United States of Awesome
by TimeTheFinalFrontier
Summary: 101 things the rest of the world loves about Alfred F. Jones. Now featuring special Gauken and Midsummer chapters, plus the Nordic 5!
1. America the Beautiful

America the Beautiful

Arthur's Chapter

"So that's why we should build a giant hero!" Alfred shouted, fist-pumping the air.

The room was silent for a moment, quiet sighs punctuating the stillness every few seconds before the meeting erupted in chaos. Gilbert, Antonio, and Francis started laughing in unison. Romano started throwing tomatoes first at Antonio, then at Francis, then at Ludwig, prompting a shouted chorus of, "Quiet down," and "Shut up," while Matthew stood in the corner quietly asking Gilbert and Francis to, "Please just be a little quieter, if you want to."

Ivan stood up and began radiating purple waves of doom in an attempt to help Ludwig restore order, but that just resulted in the Baltics quivering behind him and Feliks hitting Ivan with his handbag and ordering him to leave Toris alone.

The Asians broke off into a neat and quiet group in the corner where Matthew was standing, mostly invisible, and continued on with the meeting as if nothing had happened and Arthur nodded in approval. That must be why they get things done, he thought vaguely to himself before he went back to watching Alfred gesturing wildly and shouting something about heroes at the front of the room, going on with his presentation as if anyone were actually listening. Arthur was actually glad that nothing ever got done in meetings, if it gave him the time to watch Alfred freely and openly, safe in the knowledge that everyone else was so caught up in causing mayhem that they wouldn't notice him staring. The fact that Alfred never had anything important to say was a major bonus as well, freeing him from the obligation of actually listening to anything his former colony had to say.

Arthur sighed, resting his chin on his hand. Alfred was just so _beautiful_... He sighed again, this time in irritation at himself. _You shouldn't be having thoughts like that at meetings,_ he chided himself. But America the beautiful was looking particularly dashing today, deep blue eyes looking deeper and bluer than ever and sun-bleached hair perfectly mussed up. And his suit, for once perfectly neat and pressed, was just _begging_ him to ruffle it and take it off, layer by –

Suddenly, Alfred caught his eyes and winked. Arthur blushed deeply, embarrassed at being caught. He looked down and pretended to organize his impeccable notes, scowling in mock irritation. When he looked back up, Alfred was holding his hand, thumb and pinky extended, close to his ear and shaking it slightly. Arthur frowned. _Phone?_ Shrugging, he fished his phone from his pocket and flipped it open.

_You have one new message from: Alfred Jones._

Arthur looked back at Alfred questioningly as the message loaded itself and flashed across his screen.

_Will u come 2 lunch w/ me_

Arthur chuckled and typed a quick reply:

_I don't know. That didn't sound like much of a question to me._

Alfred rolled his eyes across the room and shot back a message.

_Will u come 2 lunch w/ me? _

Arthur grinned mischievously.

_That depends on whether you plan on continuing to murder the Queen's English._

Another eye roll.

_Will you come to lunch with me?_

Arthur smiled.

_Well, now that you ask... Yes, I'd rather like to go to lunch with you. _

Alfred gave a victory shout across the room and Arthur sent him another message:

_Must you act like such a wanker in public?_

Alfred's reply was immediate:

_I think u ment HERO_

Arthur smiled fondly and slid his phone back in his pocket. Alfred produced a bell out of seemingly nowhere and shook it wildly, getting the attention of the assembled nations. "The hero declares this meeting closed for the day!"

Germany started shouting at this. "Vhat? It's only noon! And we haven't gotten anything done!"

Alfred laughed and clapped him on the back. "Maybe next time."

Arthur stood up and gathered his notes, a little upset over such an abrupt end to his Alfred-watching session, but excited about his up-coming lunch date.

"So," Alfred said, sauntering up to him. "Like what you see?"

"Git," Arthur responded half-heartedly, allowing Alfred to escort him out of the room. "And, for what it's worth, yes."

* * *

**A/N: So, I have the next few chapters planned out, but leave a review if you want a specific theme to be included or a specific America-based pairing and I will (try to) write a chapter just for you! Potential/implied/eventual pairings will include: USUK (obviously), France/America (next chapter), Franada, PruCan, and more! **


	2. Land of the Free

Chapter 2

Land of the Free

France's Chapter

Message from Francis Bonnefoy to Alfred Jones, July 3rd, 11:04 PM:

_Happy 4__th__, Amérique._

Message from Alfred Jones to Francis Bonnefoy, July 4th, 1:02 AM:

_Thnx, man. party my place tonight u coming_

Message from Francis Bonnefoy to Alfred Jones, July 4th, 3:38 AM:

_Wouldn't miss it for the world. _

Message from Alfred Jones to Francis Bonnefoy, July 4th, 4:56 AM:

_:-)_

Later:

"Nice party, _Amérique_," Francis slurred, flinging an arm around Alfred's shoulders.

"I know, right?" Alfred laughed. "Too bad Arthur can't enjoy it," he added, face falling.

"Shh. He'll get over himself one day. You can have me for now," Francis whispered, pressing a chaste kiss to Alfred's lips as the night sky lit up above them with the colors of a dozen different fireworks.

"Woah, I think I saw stars for a moment there," Alfred giggled.

"Want to try again to correct that misconception?" Francis asked silkily.

Alfred nodded dizzily and Francis gave him a seductive smirk, timing their kiss just right so that their lips met again just as another round of fireworks was exploding in the sky.

"Still seeing stars?" Francis asked in mock sympathy and Alfred nodded. "They call me the country of love for a reason, mon ami."

"Hey, hey," Alfred half-sang, drunk on the patriotism of his people. "Come with me."

"Oh la la, that sounds like fun," Francis replied, letting himself be pulled onto the makeshift stage where a local teenage band was playing patriotic songs amongst the Top 40 of the day.

"Everyone, listen up," Alfred shouted into the microphone he'd stolen from the lead singer, barely cringing as it made a horrible shrieking sound that brought everyone's hands to their ears. "I'd like to propose a toast," he said in a quieter voice, and two beers were handed to him from below. He gave one to Francis. "Oh, wait, I gotta have my bro Matthew up for this. Mattie," he called, leaning against Francis. Matthew reluctantly joined them on the stage and Alfred cheered. "I'd have Iggy up here too-" He was interrupted by a shout of disapproval and a chorus of boo's. "Yeah, like I was going to say, I think we'd all be better off like this. Now! A toast, to family!"

A symphony of cheers greeted this and on stage, Alfred, Francis, and Matthew raised their beers and maple-syrup bottles in the air. Everyone drank deeply and when they finished, gasping, Alfred turned to Matthew, brows furrowed together. "Who drinks syrup, bro?"

"It stopped being syrup five beers ago," Matthew shouted above the noise of the crowd.

Alfred laughed joyously. The band started to play again and the fireworks show reached its crescendo. The guests, teetering on the edge between tipsy and drunk and leaning sharply towards the latter, began stumbling away in pairs of twos and threes.

Francis was the last to leave, lingering for a while, drinking wine and peering over Alfred's shoulder as the other watched the fireworks show going on in the west coast.

After a while, Francis could see Alfred yawning every few moments and trying not to dose off and began to make his excuses even as Alfred begged him to stay.

At the door, Alfred smiled sleepily at him and asked, "Want to see if you can make me see stars one last time?" Francis grinned lazily and blew Alfred a kiss just as one of the last straggling fireworks blossomed in the sky behind him.

Alfred rubbed his eyes and blinked. "I should probably go to bed," he laughed.

"Bon soir. Et bon anniversaire."

"Yeah, yeah. Night to you too." The door slid shut and Francis shook his head, chuckling to himself and setting out into the night, hands in his pockets.

The door cracked open a few seconds later. "Oh? And Francis?" Francis turned around obediently. "Thanks for coming."

Ten days later:

Message from Alfred Jones to Francis Bonnefoy, July 14th, 12:01 AM:

_happy 14__th __:-)_

Message from Francis Bonnefoy to Alfred Jones, July 14th, 12:02 AM:

_I was thinking of throwing together a little party... Perhaps you'd like to join me? ;-)_

Message from Alfred Jones to Francis Bonnefoy, July 4th, 12:04 AM:

_hell yeah! :-D_

* * *

A/N: "Bon soir. Et bon anniversaire," means "Good night. And happy birthday." The 4th of July is America's Independence Day and the 14th is Bastille Day in France. It commemorates the start of the French Revolution.

Thanks to everyone who has reviewed. DMC requested a chapter involving Israel... I will be working on that, so expect to see it by chapter 10.

Late Disclaimer: I don't own Hetalia. I never have and I never will.


	3. From the Mountains, to the Prairies

Chapter 3

From the Mountains, to the Prairies, to the Oceans White With Foam...

America's POV

America was the third largest country on Earth. Fourth, if you asked China, but that didn't matter because Wikipedia agreed that America was the third – oh, wait, Wikipedia actually agreed with China, but what did it know anyway? It listed _Australia_ as a country. Pff!

But, third or fourth largest, America had the misfortune of living right next to the (sadly undisputed) second largest nation on Earth.

Canada.

Canada who never tired of calling him small, even though America was undeniably the awesomest nation on Earth.

"Second awesomest!" Prussia shouted somewhere in eastern Germany. "Right after the awesome me! Kesesese..."

Yeah, second awesomest, _sure_...

Anyway, Canada was so mean, always reminding him who was _bigger_ whenever America tried to tell everyone what an awesome hat he had. How ungrateful, right? I mean, who _wouldn't_ want to be his hat!

But what did Canada know? America had vast and plentiful reserves of natural resources...

"We have the same resources, you know," Canada sighed.

And his big, beautiful lands...

"We also have the same beautiful lands, and mine are bigger."

And his wonderful warm climate...

"You know how hot it can get in the South!"

And his democratic ideals...

"I'm a democracy too, you know."

And his distinct _lack_ of any communist elements...

"If you're talking about my health care system, I swear to God, Al, I will get the hockey stick!"

Oh, and his wonderful people that weren't obsessed with hockey and didn't drink maple syrup for breakfast... And lunch... And dinner...

"No one _drinks_ syrup! No one!"

_Sure_.

"And as _if_ you aren't _just_ as obsessed with your stupid football and baseball teams!"

Hey, they aren't stupid! They're the best in the world!

"Keep telling yourself that, Al."

Well, anyway. Canada was just jealous.

"Yes, terribly. I wish that I had an obesity rate in mid sixties and a generation of people graduating college that can't even count that high and a healthcare system as inefficient as yours."

Like I said. Pure jealousy. And in any case, what did size matter anyway?

"You're the one who brought it up!"

Uh-huh.

* * *

**A/N: I know some people who think Australia is still part of the United Kingdom. (It's not.) Australia _is_ a country, and I didn't mean to offend an Australians, Canadians, or Americans, or anyone else for that matter. America is just being silly.**

**Also, in real life, the obesity rate in America is 30%, not in the high sixties. **

**Also, don't forget to leave a review if you want to see a specific theme or pairing!**


	4. Hamburger Street

Chapter 4

Hamburger Street

Arthur's Chapter

The McDonald's was mostly deserted, empty save for a lone businessman folding and unfolding a paper he obviously had no intention of reading and two teenagers on some sort of date. Arthur tried to tell himself that there was no chance of getting caught here. No other nation would be caught dead in a McDonalds. Except, of course, for Alfred, but the chances of him coming to this McDonalds of all the red and yellow burger shops in much more heavily frequented areas of Manhattan were one in a million.

"Hey, Iggy, what are you doing here?"

More like fifty-fifty, but he'd been so sure of himself this time! He turned and scowled. "What are _you_ doing here, git?"

Alfred looked confused for a moment. "I practically _live_ in Mickey D's, man. You can't seriously be surprised to see me here."

Arthur mumbled something unintelligible and Alfred laughed his hero-laugh. "So, seriously, dude, what were you doing here?"

Arthur took a moment to think of a convincing lie, and then hesitated a bit longer to make it a little more realistic. "I... I was going to visit you, and I thought... I thought that maybe, since... I know how much you like your burgers, so I thought I'd bring some over. But then you had to go buggering in here and ruin everything, you wanker!"

Alfred frowned. "I'm sorry, dude. Wow, I never thought I'd actually feel _bad_ about going to McDonalds..." He laughed uncomfortably. "Uh, do you want me to wait outside?"

Arthur sighed convincingly. "No. What's done is done. Get your bloody burgers. I'm leaving."

Alfred grabbed his wrist. "Hey, wait. You said you were planning on coming over. Did you change your mind already?"

"Yes. I'm very cross with you for coming in here and ruining your own surprise." That and the fact he'd planned to be in and out in five minutes and hadn't planned on visiting Alfred at all.

"I'll make it up to you? Tell you what. I'll buy you a burger!"

"Sure, I was planning on dying a greasy death today anyway," he said bitingly.

"Hey, my burgers are awesome!"

Arthur raised an eyebrow at this. "I don't want your bloody burgers." And wasn't that a lie? His heart clenched and he silently begged Alfred to press the issue to further, to buy him a burger anyway.

Alfred was silent, but when he got up to the front desk, he ordered eleven burgers. His usual order was ten.

A week later:

Arthur was a terrible liar. Oh, he was never unconvincing, but the gentleman in him wouldn't let him carry on a lie for very long. That's why he called Alfred at seven in the morning when he knew that it was only two A.M. in America.

The phone went straight to voicemail.

"Alfred? Alfred? Oh, bloody hell, I have something to tell you... That time in McDonald's last week... When I said I was buying burgers for you? Well, I lied. They were for me. Because..." He blushed. "The truth is, I love your burgers."

Message from Alfred Jones to Arthur Kirkland, March 2nd, 10:03 AM EST:

_i knew it!_

Message from Arthur Kirkland to Alfred Jones, March 2nd, 3:26 PM GMT:

_Bugger off. And capitalize your I's._

Message from Alfred Jones to Arthur Kirkland, March 2nd, 10:28 AM EST:

_I thInk It's so cute Iggy!_

Message from Arthur Kirkland to Alfred Jones, March 2nd, 3:33 PM GMT:

_Not like that, you git!_

Message from Alfred Jones to Arthur Kirkland, March 2nd, 10:39 AM EST:

_LIke wha_

Message from Arthur Kirkland to Alfred Jones, March 2nd, 3:40 PM GMT:

...

Message from Arthur Kirkland to Alfred Jones, March 2nd, 3:41 PM GMT:

_Do you have plans Friday?_

Message from Alfred Jones to Arthur Kirkland, March 2nd, 10:42 AM EST:

_dont think so... y?_

Message from Arthur Kirkland to Alfred Jones, March 2nd, 3:45 PM GMT:

_Burgers_?

Message from Alfred Jones to Arthur Kirkland, March 2nd, 10:46 AM EST:

:-)

Message from Arthur Kirkland to Alfred Jones, March 2nd, 3:48 PM GMT:

_Smiley face to you, too... Git._

* * *

**A/N: It's my headcannon that Arthur really likes Alfred's food. Also that the tsundere characters are tsundere more as an afterthought than anything else.**


	5. This We'll Defend

Chapter 5

This We'll Defend

Israel's Chapter

New nations always appeared at the end of an era – during the fall of empires, in the years following the final signing of a declaration of peace after a long and bitter war, whenever the world was turned upside down and forced to build anew.

The Second World War proved to be no different, giving birth to several new nations and revolutionizing the old. The war changed all of them, to some extent, and the unspoken agreement was clear in everyone's mind that the world would never be the same. 1946 dawned on a vastly different world than had been seen in 1939.

The war had seen the British Empire stumble and fall, and had spelled the death of the French colonial empire. The fighting had seen Europe in ruins, impoverished and struggling to rebuild all that had been destroyed. The conflict had sent Germany into a lifetime of guilt and Japan into a century of armed neutrality.

But no one nation had been changed more than the United States of America. Two hundred years of isolation were over, and America took its place on the world stage as an economic, social, and political leader. Suddenly America was the world's hero, pouring millions of dollars into the effort to rebuild Europe and trying to lead the world into a lasting peace.

Seventy years later, America secretly missed those days when everyone else looked up to him and needed him. He missed the time when no one constantly criticized him and his ideas and scruntized every action, jumping like a pack of angry wolves at the slightest mistake. Couldn't they see that he was trying his best? Couldn't they understand that he just wanted to be someone's hero again?

There was still one nation that looked up to him, though, one nation he could rely on to love him unconditionally...

"I'm scared, Daddy," a little girl with a Star of David hanging from her neck whimpered.

"I know you are," America said, picking her up with a smile and placing a gentle kiss on her forehead. "But you shouldn't be with me, because I'm a hero and I won't let anything bad happen to you."

"Like superman?" Israel asked sleepily, burrowing into his soft jacket.

America chuckled and petted her hair. "Just like superman, except without a cape."

"You don't need a cape to be my hero," Israel mumbled, leaning into America's touch. "I love you, Daddy."

America screwed his eyes closed and rested his chin atop the child's head. "I love you too, Izzy. So much."

* * *

**A/N: This isn't exactly what DMC requested, so I'm sorry. But I hope you enjoyed it anyway!**

**I looked up several fan-made Israel characters, and one of them had America as her boyfriend, and Germany as her father, and another had a young male Israel, so I combined those two ideas into this unintentionally serious chapter.**


	6. Roswell

Chapter 6

Roswell

England's Chapter

Summer 1947:

It was no secret that Arthur had a major weakness for cute things. Sometimes he was convinced that Alfred exploited this to gain favors, but most of the time reason prevailed and he realized that the oblivious nation was just as oblivious as ever. Today was not one of those days.

"Hey, Iggy! Come over right away! You will not _believe_ what I just found!"

"Alfred, I can't just come running over the Atlantic every time you find some interesting bug in your backyard. You know that I'm still trying to recover and airplane tickets aren't cheap and-"

Alfred cut him off smoothly. "Which is why I already bought your tickets. Plus, you just _have_ to see this! I mean, it's just _awesome!_"

"Alfred, I really don't want to-"

"Would it help if I said it's alive and absolutely adorable?"

A long pause.

"When does my flight leave?"

Alfred grinned and started doing a victory dance at the other end of the line. "In three hours."

Alfred whooped in joy and high-fived the mirror. It shattered, and he shrugged, hoping to remember to clean it up later.

The next day:

"What was it you so urgently needed me to see?" Arthur asked drolly, all the while chanting silently to himself, 'Cute, cute, cute, cute...'

"That's a secret."

Arthur stamped his foot and _whined._ "Alfred, you _promised._"

Alfred smiled tenderly at him. "We're going there now. The place is a government secret, but I managed to make an exception."

Arthur blushed, suddenly very embarrassed at his childish outburst. He coughed in what he hoped was a very gentlemanly manner to make up for it. "I'm terribly sorry. That was very rude of me. The recovery efforts are still adversely affecting me."

"I know, man. I understand. You don't have anyone to impress here, though, so stop apologizing."

Arthur nodded and Alfred looked down, shuffling his feet. Arthur's heart quickened. Did this mean...

"Uh, I'm really sorry about this, man, but..." Alfred swallowed and looked up at him briefly before his eyes darting away again, falling everywhere but upon Arthur. "This place is _really_ secret, so... You're going to have to wear this." Alfred held up a black strip of cloth and Arthur groaned.

Alfred chuckled nervously. "Sorry, man, but it's protocol."

"Fine, just give it to me," Arthur grumbled, mantra of 'cute' momentarily forgotten.

"Uh, about that... I was told I had to do it," Alfred said softly.

Arthur closed his eyes in humiliation.

"I'll be gentle," Alfred said, voice impossibly soft.

"Well, go on, do it already!"

Alfred hesitated for a moment. "Are you alright with it? I mean, so soon after the war..."

Arthur took a deep breath and nodded. He felt Alfred slip the cloth over his eyes and tie it in the back. He opened his eyes and discovered that he could see quite clearly if he tipped his head back and little and looked down. He let out a breath he didn't know he was holding and silently thanked Alfred.

"You should probably keep your eyes closed," Alfred whispered. "I don't want either of us to get in trouble."

Arthur slid his eyes shut and nodded. Alfred took his arm very gently and led him into a car some distance away. The younger nation made idle conversation the entire ride, but Arthur stayed mostly silent, periodically asking how much longer their trip was going to last.

* * *

"Open your eyes," Alfred told him after they'd gotten out of the car and walked for a few minutes.

Arthur complied, blinking in the bright light. Alfred turned him around and Arthur found himself face to face with the most adorable creature he'd ever seen. Big black eyes peered back at him, opening and closing shyly, and a tiny mouth rose in an even smaller smile. Arthur kneeled before it and 'awwed' loudly. "He's so cute!"

"Uh, Tony, this is Arthur. Arthur, Tony," Alfred said, gesturing between the two.

Tony made a face of displeasure and Arthur aw'ed again. "Aren't you just the cutest little thing?"

"I don't like him," Tony said a language of beeps and clicks that only Alfred was able to understand.

"What did he say?" Arthur asked, blinking up at Alfred questioningly.

"He says he thinks you two can be friends!" Alfred said, smiling at Arthur, who cooed and went back to aw-ing over the creature.

"No I didn't," Tony said.

"He says he can't wait to learn more about you," Alfred 'translated.'

"That's a lie."

"He says he loves your accent!"

Arthur bit his lip. "Is he American or something?"

"I'm insulted," Tony said.

Alfred laughed. "No. You know, Americans aren't the only ones who appreciate British accents. And he said he's from outer space just now."

"You're both idiots," Tony replied, throwing up his hands.

"Aw, he looks like he's dancing! What did he just say?"

"He said he wanted to show you how they dance on Mars."

"Mars!" Tony cried, outraged. "Mars? Really? Mars?"

"And that's one of the most popular songs on his planet right now."

"Is everyone on his planet this cute?" Arthur gushed. "Oh, Alfred, how long is he staying? Can I visit? Please, please, please?" He asked, standing and tugging on Alfred's arm.

"I don't know if everyone else is as cute as he is where he comes from, but I do know he's on a "permanent mission." Meaning he's going to be staying for at least two hundred years to monitor the progress of our species. And, yes, you can visit as often as you like."

"I can't wait," Tony said sarcastically.

"He says he can hardly wait to see you again!" Alfred laughed.

Arthur gave a squeal of joy and threw his arms around Alfred, who caught him and returned the gesture. Arthur then turned and gathered Tony in a similar embrace. The alien looked at Alfred imploringly.

Alfred shook his head and made a slit-throat gesture. "Please be nice," he mouthed. "Please!"

Tony rolled his eyes and patted Arthur on the back.

Arthur grinned and stood up. "I think he likes me," he said proudly to Alfred.

"Oh, I know he does," Alfred lied, gently pushed Arthur away from the alien. "But he's very tired from his flight and he needs to rest. How about I take you to the mess to get some food?"

Arthur nodded, pouting a little. "Bye, bye, little guy! I'll be back as soon as I can!"

Alfred smiled at him and guided Arthur out the door, only briefly looking back to see Tony giving them both the middle finger. He slammed the door behind them and led a giggling Arthur to the cafeteria, silently praying that Tony never learned English.

* * *

**A/N: Tony doesn't appreciate being called cute. They'd probably get on quite well otherwise.**


	7. Smell Like a Man

Chapter 7

Smell Like A Man

Arthur's Chapter

Alfred slung his arm around Arthur's chair like he usually did at the halfway mark every meeting. This time was different, though. Arthur sniffed the air, lip trembling at the enticing scent. Alfred smelled like... He smelled like pine and oak and maple wood and spice and he almost swooned. His boyfriend smelled _manly._

Arthur took out his phone, careful to avoid Ludwig's watchful gaze. _New cologne?_

He saw Alfred surreptitiously take his phone out and type a quick reply. _yeah u like?_

Arthur bit his lip. _Better than smelling like hamburgers._

Alfred grinned to himself and put away his phone. That was Iggy-speak for, "I love it." Victory was his.

* * *

Arthur could barely concentrate for the rest of the meeting. He wanted to be engulfed in Alfred's scent, he wanted to relish it and languish in it and drown in it... He didn't care about global warming or the Middle Eastern conflict or the devaluation of the euro. Ludwig might as well have been speaking in German for all he understood of his presentation.

The minute the meeting was declared closed, Arthur gathered both his and Alfred's stuff in one hand and proceeded to pull Alfred into a nearby broom closest.

They emerged two minutes later, a blushing Alfred wearing a too-small button down shirt and a sweater vest, and a grinning Arthur wearing Alfred's uniform top and bomber jacket.

Around the corner, Francis, Elizaveta, and Kiku frowned and put away their spy-camera equipped cell-phones. "Well, that was disappointing," Elizaveta said.

"I saw Ludwig and Feliciano going back to their hotel room together," Francis suggested with a lewd wink.

Kiku brought up the camera feed of room 301 and was promptly treated to a lapful of Frenchman and a squealing Hungarian.

* * *

**A/N: Alfred and Arthur just switched clothes, but feel free to believe otherwise.**

**Also, I don't own the Old Spice company or the "Smell like a man" advertising campaign. **


	8. Home of the Brave

Chapter 8

Home of the Brave

Most of the nations of the world agreed that the best thing about America was his diversity.

It made them feel inexplicably good when he complimented them on their clothing when they were wearing styles native to their homelands. He would name the style and sometimes a specific item in their ensemble, speaking clearly in their native language and with perfect pronunciation, as if he spoke their language every day.

It made them indescribably happy when they saw a restaurant on the crowded streets of New York advertising "authentic French cuisine," or "British-style cooking," or "palaces" of Chinese food. More – it made them feel loved.

When they walked through one of the city's many parks and saw schoolchildren struggling over their French or Spanish or German homework, it made them feel young and vital and important and _needed_ again.

And when they saw one of their _own_ walking down the street, they'd stop and stare for a moment, and for a few minutes they'd feel like something greater, something more than they were and far grander.

Sometimes they'd seek out America himself afterwards, and take his hands in their own and whisper a quiet thank you and America would smile at them and speak in a mixture of their two languages something that always amounted to, "It's because of them that I love you."

* * *

**A/N: Thank you to everyone who has reviewed! **


	9. From Sea to Shining Sea

Chapter 9

From Sea to Shining Sea

August 2016:

Alfred had just finished hanging the new flags from every corner of his house. Bored, he flopped down on his couch and dialed Matthew's number. His brother answered on the second ring and Alfred shouted down the line, "Hey, Mattie, wanna come over and play Halo?"

Matthew replied in a typically weak and soft tone. "R-really? Me?"

Alfred laughed his hero-laugh and nodded even though the other couldn't see him. "Yeah, bro, you! What do you say?"

"Oh, Alfie, I'd love to," Matthew said, and Alfred could practically hear him swooning all the way in Canada.

"All right, get your maple-flavored butt down here and you can start losing to the awesomely heroic me!"

"T-thank you, Al! I'll be right over!"

Alfred chuckled and hung up the phone. This was _too_ easy. He smiled to himself and rang up another number.

"Hola? Esta es Maria."

"Hey, Maria, it's your awesome big brother Alfred."

"Hermano? Why are you calling me? You never..."

"I wanted to know if you wanted to come over and spend some time with me and Mattie."

"Oh, can I? Por favor!"

"Yes, yes, you can. Come on over."

Alfred heard a click from the other end of the line and grinned, rubbing his hands together in expectation. The doorbell rang while he was gloating and he jumped up to open it. Maria and Matthew stood on his porch, smiling shyly up at him.

"Come on in, guys. Boy, do I have a surprise for you!"

"A-Alfie," Matthew stuttered, running up to him and pulling on the sleeve of his jacket. "Do you have any syrup?"

Alfred nodded and led his younger siblings into the kitchen. He took down one of his many maple syrup bottles that he kept in the furthest cabinet specifically for Matthew and retrieved a straw from a straw-holder on his counter. He handed both to his brother, who grabbed them eagerly and began sipping on his syrup hungrily. "Thank you, Alfie."

"No problem, bro. Now, for what I brought you here for."

"To hang out?" Maria suggested, petting a little dog in a sombrero that was perched in her lap.

"To play Halo?" Matthew mumbled through his mouthful of syrup.

"No. Have you seen all the flags around?" He asked, kneeling down to their level.

The others nodded.

"Well, I thought that they'd look so much nicer with ninety-five stars instead of just fifty-one."

Matthew's forehead crinkled and Alfred would he tell he was trying to figure out where the extra stars would come from and how they were involved. "Well, with my ten provinces, and three territories, and Maria's thirty-one states... That would make ninety-five."

Alfred clapped, always amazed when his little brother displayed his intelligence. "Exactly! I want you two to join with me to form the United States of Awesome!"

Matthew finished his bottle of syrup and looked up at him with shining purple eyes. "R-really? I've always wanted to be part of your country, Alfred! Why do you think so many of my people live on the border?"

"And me too, hermano? Does this mean you can look after me and fix my country's problems? I've always wanted you to annex me! Why do you think so many of my people cross the border to live in your country?"

Alfred laughed and gathered his siblings in his arms. "Now all we have to do is call my boss to tell him that everything has been arranged." His eyes flashed. "The continent will be mine and when-"

* * *

Alfred woke up and promptly burst into tears. "That was an _awesome_ dream," he wailed. "Why couldn't it have been real? Why, why, why?"

He reached groggily for his phone and speed-dialed one.

"'Ello, you've reached Matthew Williams and I'm really busy right now so if you could call back some other time that'd be great," a rushed voice greeted him.

"Mattie! You'll never believe the dream I just had!"

"Let me guess. You dreamt that Maria and I agreed to be annexed."

Alfred paused. "How did you know that?"

"Because you've had the same dream every time you've gotten a new state for the past one hundred and fifty years and I'm always the first person you call and the next thing you're going to ask is whether I want to come over your house and when I say no you're going to ask if I'd like to become thirteen all-American states and I'm going to say fuck you and hang up." There was a click from the other end of the line and then silence. Alfred frowned and held the phone up to inspect it before bringing it back to his ear.

"Mattie?" Nothing. "Mattie?" Silence. "Huh, he hung up on me! Oh, well! I can always call Maria!"

* * *

**A/N:**

**Alfred likes to think of his siblings as weak and small. In the dream, they start out as a few inches shorter than him and shrink to child-size by the end. In Hetalia real-life, they're both older than him, Matthew is the same size, and Maria (Mexico) is only a few inches shorter.**

**This is in response to this request from a guest: _From Sea to Shining Sea: Now that Puerto Rico is a State, America's lands stretch beyond the Atlantic and Pacific coasts. The question is, is Alfred satisfied with this, or as Manifest Destiny states, will he stretch his lands to the northern and southern seas as well? What fate awaits his siblings, Canada and Mexico?_**

**This isn't what was requested at all, because it sort of didn't fit the theme of things the rest of the world likes about America. And this chapter doesn't either, but it falls in the category of things-America-likes-to-think-the-rest-of-the-world-likes-about-him.**

**If guest-requester wants, I might consider writing a more serious story not part of this one that explores the prompt further.**

**To other requesters, you will see your chapters soon! **


	10. Engwand

Chapter 10

Engwand

England's Chapter

"Engwand, Engwand, come see the snake I found in the backyard!" Alfred called from his back porch.

"One moment, Alfred," Arthur shouted back. The git probably didn't even realize he was doing it again.

"Engwand, Enwgand! Come on, it's crawling away!"

Arthur sighed. "One minute!" He would never admit it to anyone, but he secretly adored the other's lisp.

Alfred came bounding through the house, stopping in front of Arthur and pulling him out of his armchair. "Engwand," he whined.

Arthur shoved Alfred away. "Would you _stop_ that? 'Engwand this, Engwand that!' It's maddening! I can't think of anything else when you say my name like that because you're adorable when you do it and all I want to do is hug you and kiss you and the last thing I want to think about is some bloody garden snake!" So much for not telling anyone.

"Aww, Iggy, that is so cute!" Alfred exclaimed, flinging himself into Arthur's arms. "Just because of that, I won't make you think of my 'bloody garden snakes,'" he said, pulling away.

Arthur blushed and tried to smooth himself out. "Well, thank you, Alfred, that's very considerate of you and if you'd kindly refrain from-"

He was interrupted by Alfred flinging a giant rubber snake in his face and doubling over in laughter when it caused him to let out a girlish shriek and fall back into his arm chair, screaming at Alfred to get "that serpentine monster the bloody hell away from him."

"You should have seen the look on your face," Alfred cried, pointing a trembling finger at him.

"Yes, I'm sure it was hilarious," Arthur said, standing once more and brushing imaginary dust from his trousers. "Now that you're done with your childish-"

He was cut off once more by the rubber snake, but this time Alfred screamed and fell to the ground in amusement after Arthur flailed and knocked over two lamps and a side table in the process of backing away from the creature.

"God, Engwand," Alfred howled. "You are just too cute!"

"Stop calling me that! And will you _stop_ already with that _stupid_ snake, I don't know _what_ you're trying to do but at this rate it seems to me like you're trying to ensure that you'll be sleeping on the cou-"

Alfred cut him off again, this time with a pair of warm lips pressed against his own. "Forgive me?" Alfred asked, taking each of his hands in his own and looking up at him through his eyelashes, blinking slowly and smiling enticingly. Arthur nodded minutely, leaning forward to steal another kiss.

"I wuv you, Engwand," Alfred whispered.

"Oh, Alfred," Arthur breathed, pressing his forehead against Alfred's. "I love you too."

"Even when I'm throwing plastic snakes at you?" Alfred asked, breathless.

"Especially when you're throwing plastic snakes at me, love."

Alfred hummed in content agreement.

"You're still sleeping on the couch tonight, though," Arthur said, pulling away and walking towards the kitchen.

"What?" Alfred protested with a pout, throwing himself onto said couch in despair.

"I didn't say you'd be sleeping alone, did I?" Arthur called from the kitchen.

Alfred let the other's words sink in and secretly did a hero-victory-dance on the couch.

"I can still see you, know you," Arthur said in a sing-song voice.

Alfred stuck out his tongue in the direction of the kitchen, knowing the Arthur was doing the same on the other side of the wall.


	11. Abstract

Chapter 11

{Abstract}

Francis's Chapter

Message from Alfred Jones to Francis Bonnefoy, October 3rd, 9:56 AM:

_u staying in NYC 4 the meeting?_

Message from Francis Bonnefoy to Alfred Jones, October 3rd, 9:59 AM:

_Oui. Pourquoi?_

Message from Alfred Jones to Francis Bonnefoy, October 3rd, 10:01 AM:

_just asking_

Message from Alfred Jones to Francis Bonnefoy, October 3rd, 10:03 AM:

_wanna go to museum this saturday?_

Message from Francis Bonnefoy to Alfred Jones, October 3rd, 10:09 AM:

_Alfred, mon cher, I am not in the habit of accepting text-message proposals._

Message from Alfred Jones to Francis Bonnefoy, October 3rd, 10:03 AM:

_Fine. Grr._

* * *

Alfred punched Francis's number into his phone angrily. After three rings, he started speaking. The other always picked up after exactly three rings. "Bonjour, Francis. C'est Alfred..."

"Mon cher Alfred! C'est une belle journée, non?"

"Francis, do you want to come to the museum with me this Saturday?"

Francis laughed, low and long and with just a hint of mocking. "What, no build up? No pleasantries? No casual exchanges and subtle flirting first? I hope that you treat your lady friends better than this."

Alfred flushed. He always froze up around Francis and forgot everything the older man had ever taught him about love and romance and courtship, and suddenly it was like he was a colony all over again, with Francis trying to help him win the war and teach him all the things he'd need to know to be a successful nation... "I-I'm sorry," he stuttered. "I mean, I-"

"Nevertheless, I accept," Francis said, cutting him off smoothly. There was a pregnant silence. "And, I understand, you know." He sighed. "When you love someone enough and it is like all the beautiful words you have ever known escape you and the romance becomes lost in the _passion..._ It is like that for me with Arthur."

"R-really?" Alfred asked, blushing harder. "You?"

"Yes, mon petit. There are times when words fail even the most eloquent and strength the strongest. For Arthur, you are the one that steals his words."

Alfred bit his lip and squirmed in his chair. "Francis, I'm not sure-"

Francis interrupted his once more. "I thought I taught you better than to be embarrassed about such matters, mon amour," he chuckled, but Alfred could tell that there would be no further discourse on the subject. "So, Saturday at noon?"

"I'll pick you up?"

"I didn't doubt it."

Alfred nodded frantically, forgetting the other couldn't see him. He tried to picture Francis on the other end, tossing his hair over his shoulder, eyes lidded, seductive smile painted on his lips, the lines of his body warm and inviting...

"I'll see you then," Francis purred, taking Alfred's silence as consent.

Alfred just nodded again, drained from speaking to the other nation but feeling the familiar currents of excitement running through him. He put his phone on vibrate and let it fall into his lap. Then he texted the most talkative person he knew: Poland.

* * *

Being with Francis wasn't any less intense than speaking with him, but it was intense in an energizing, enthralling way. Francis looked at home amongst the European sculptures, the lines of his body no less graceful and his features no less perfect, his gaze no less searching. And he was in his element here, floating from piece to piece, reciting the artist, the country of origin, and the year of creation in a single breath, and going on to point out the work's defining features, why it was important to the world of art, where the artist's personal signature was starkly visible and where it was so subtle as to be barely present, the artist's reasons for sculpting it and under what context. Soon a crowd of curators and patrons had gathered around them to marvel at Francis' wealth of knowledge.

It took them two hours to tour the whole wing. The entire time, they had been flanked by a crowd of people pressing in around them, nodding their heads and following the fluid movements of Francis's hands. When the last sculpture had been explained and analyzed, the crowd erupted into cheers and Francis bowed deeply in three directions, hand over his heart. He blew kisses at the audience, and the young men and women blushed and giggled and the others in the audience hid smiles behind their hands and tried to stop their cheeks from coloring. Slowly, the crowd dispersed and left Francis and Alfred alone standing next to a truly magnificent statue of a warrior and his dog.

"So," Francis said to Alfred once the crowd had departed, pressing his fingers to Alfred's wrist as he was sometimes wont to do.

Alfred grinned, grasping the other's hand in his own. "Follow me."

* * *

The American Art wing was both of their favorites. Alfred's knowledge rivaled Francis's expertise on European art, and they quickly attracted a growing crowd once more as Alfred talked about American history and culture and the American dream, gesturing grandly and talking about the heroes of the past and the promises of the future. Three hours later, they'd flitted from painting to painting and found themselves at the end of a long hallway under a vaulted ceiling. The crowd cheered and clapped and someone started singing the Star Spangled Banner – Alfred swore it sounded suspiciously like Francis, but the other nation fervently denied it afterward – and soon the entire crowd of a hundred and fifty people joined in, a chorus of _Oh say can you see's_ and _the rocket's red glare, the bombs bursting in air_ rang through the air and rose towards the skylights.

* * *

The summer air was warm and welcoming and blossoming with the scents and sounds of the city: baking bread, grilling hamburgers, a million different street vendors advertising their wares with loud cries of "Gyros," and "Souvenirs," the faint lingering mix of the perfumes and colognes of those who had passed by recently, the starchy, fresh smell wafting from the various clothing shops lining the streets, a thousand different voices rising in chorus as they spoke on their cell phones to friends and family and coworkers oceans away, the honking and beeping of cars, the lovely fragrance of flowers and trees carried from miles away on the breeze, and an undertone of gasoline hanging in the air. Alfred and Francis walked back to the former's apartment arm in arm, talking lowly and leaning towards one another every once in a while to catch the tail end of a word snatched away by the growing wind or lost in the hustle and bustle of Manhattan.

They reached it after an hour-long stroll and blinked as they entered the sterile, air-conditioned, sleek marble lines of the lobby. Alfred laughed and pulled Francis into the elevator, keying in the combination for the top floor. Francis laughed with him and kissed him, once, twice, thrice, with each one trying to say, _thank-you, I-love-you, today-made-me-so-happy._

Alfred's top-floor apartment was an extravagant affair, ultra-modern and sleek, tastefully decorated and picture-book perfect. Windows stood where the walls should be, revealing the sun setting behind the slowly-darkening city. It was a truly breathtaking spectacle at night, when the light from the buildings blocked out the stars and made the world shine with the lights of a thousand suns.

Francis accepted the glass of champagne Alfred had poured for him and walked slowly and purposefully to the window. "Not as beautiful as Paris," he sighed.

"You say that every time," Alfred laughed, walking up beside him and resting his head on his shoulder. "Stay the night?" An offer, a request, a plea.

"I don't have any clothes."

"Not if you don't count the ones you left behind last time."

"I suppose I could consider it," Francis said, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. "Your city is magnificent, you know."

"Let me guess. Not as magnificent as Paris, right?" Alfred laughed, grinning.

"No, but it's you," he said, taking Alfred's face in his hands.

"F-Francis?"

"Yes, mon amour?"

"Je... Je t'aime."

"Je t'aime aussi. Je t'aimerai toujours."

* * *

**A/N: The museum they went to can be any museum you want it to be, however it is based on one in particular.**

**French translations! I used to hate seeing other languages in stories (mainly when no translations were included and I had to switch between the translator tab and the story) but then I started learning French and no longer needed a translator. Plus I learned some German and Italian mainly from reading Hetalia fanfic. But, translations:**

**Oui. Pourquoi?: Yes. Why?**

**Bonjour, Francis. C'est Alfred: Hi, Francis. This is Alfred.**

**Mon cher Alfred! C'est une belle journée, non?: My dear Alfred! It's a beautiful day, isn't it?**

**Je t'aime : I love you.**

**Je t'aime aussi. Je t'aimerai toujours: I love you too. I will love you forever/I will always love you.**

**Alfred speaks French to make Francis happy and comfortable. So, greetings, goodbyes, simple phrases that would make him feel more at home. In the context of the story, he can speak perfectly fluent French, but most people reading this probably don't and neither does the author. So just pretend he doesn't like speaking French all the time.**


	12. Welcome to US History 101

Chapter 12

Welcome to U.S. History 101

Because Everyone Loves Gakuen AU's

Arthur's Chapter

"I failed science," Arthur said, looking over his report card. "Again."

"I could tutor you if you want," his roommate said, flopping down on _his_ bed.

"Oh? Did you get full marks in science?" Arthur asked, already knowing the answer.

"Hmm, let's see... Hundred, hundred, hundred... Hundred, hundred, ninety-nine – how do they justify giving me a ninety-nine in _homeroom,_ I wonder, oh, whatever – and, yes, a hundred in science."

Arthur groaned and pushed Alfred to one side of the bed so he could lie down beside him. Alfred rolled over and grinned at him. "You'd get hundred's too, if you tried, you know."

"It's your fault, you know. How could I possibly study when you keep me up all night?"

Alfred smirked at him. "I _never_ keep you up past midnight and we only do it six times a week."

Arthur playfully swatted at him.

"And we both know you don't need to study."

"Yes, I do," Arthur mumbled, burying his face in Alfred's shirt.

"Oh yeah? What's the square root of twenty five thousand, two hundred eighty-one?"

"One hundred fifty-nine," Arthur answered without hesitation.

"See? You're just as smart as me. Come, let's see that silly thing," Alfred said, reaching for Arthur's report card.

Arthur protested weakly for a moment before giving up.

"All right. I'm convinced you failed French just to annoy Francis."

"That frog."

"Hmm, yes. Ribbit, ribbit. Gym you always fail because you refuse to change into the uniform!"

Arthur blushed. "I don't like locker rooms. I don't want anyone else but you seeing me naked."

"Aww! That's so sweet, Artie!"

"Don't call me that."

"Whatever, man. Geography..."

Arthur whimpered.

"You failed geography because you colored half the world pink and claimed North America, Australia, and most of Africa for 'the great and mighty British Empire' on the last test."

"I know, I know! Don't remind me!"

Alfred chuckled and ruffled Arthur's hair.

"Next is the-"

"If you dare to mention home economics, you'll be sleeping in your own bed for the next _month,_ Jones."

Alfred shuddered. "Right, moving on. I see you failed homeroom. No surprise there, since you showed up _once_ in the past three months."

"Pointless class."

"Yeah, imagine actually having to go every day."

"Mm, poor dear."

"I don't get why you failed math though. Or science for that matter. Someone who can name the square root of twenty five thousand, two hundred eighty-one in under two seconds shouldn't be failing his math class, now should he?" Alfred looked reproachfully at his boyfriend.

"That ridiculous look on your face isn't going to persuade me to do better in math, you know."

Alfred's frown slowly morphed into a grin as Arthur peered up at him, tongue caught between his teeth. "But there is one class you got a hundred in."

"Yes, I was aware of that, thank you. If you'd give me my report back so I can-"

"American history."

Arthur blushed. "I'm quite sure that was a mistake, that extra zero was quite obviously a typo and-"

"Arthur, it's the only class you passed and it's _American history,_" Alfred beamed, drawing out each word.

"Yes, well, it's all you seem to talk about, at some point some of it must have made its way into my memory. I do listen to you, you know, unlike a certain other person I happen to share a room with."

"Who, Francis? Well, of course you wouldn't listen to _him,_ but-"

"No, not _Francis,_ silly-"

"Mattie? Yeah, well, I guess he's hard to hear sometimes, so-"

"No, not your brother, either! You, you git. _You_ don't listen to _me_!"

Alfred's confused face suddenly became his serious face and Arthur scooted back on the bed a little.

"Arthur..." Alfred took both of Arthur's hands in his own. "I _always_ listen to you. Every time you call Francis a frog-face, every time you go on about how much you love English literature and how badly you wish next year were here already so you could take that class, every time you tell me about a new book you've gotten at the library, every time you tell me how much you miss England sometimes, I'm listening to you."

Arthur turned away. "I know, it's just that sometimes-"

"But, anyway, you passed American history! I love American history! You know that! Oh my gosh, Arthur, now we can talk about history for hours and this is just _amazing!_"

Arthur scowled. "Just because I passed doesn't mean I like American history."

Alfred's face fell. "You... You don't?"

Arthur melted at Alfred's sad puppy-dog look. "It's my favorite subject," he admitted.

Alfred flung his arms out and wrapped himself around Arthur, who patted his back once or twice before reluctantly returning the embrace. "Anything but the Revolution," he sniffed. "I personally think the world would be a better place if your country were still part of mine."

Alfred released him abruptly. "Not cool, British dude. Not cool at all."

"Please don't call me that."

"What? I call you that all the time!"

"You haven't called me 'British dude' since the day we met!"

Alfred's face went blank. "So?"

Arthur opened his mouth to respond, but at that moment, Matthew and Francis burst into the room, kissing as if their lives depended on it and falling onto their bed with a groan.

Alfred turned to Arthur was a positively _evil_ grin plastered across his face. "Hey, Arthur?"

"Hmm?" Arthur asked, tearing his eyes away from the kissing couple in the bed next to theirs.

"I just remembered another class you didn't fail."

"Oh? And what would that be?"

"Sex ed."

* * *

**A/N: In Hetalia School, sex-ed is more Kama-Sutra-top-99-positions than, "Here's a condom. Use it." ;-)**


	13. State of Confusion

Chapter 13

State of Confusion

Ludwig peered down at the stack of papers in his hands. "Georgia, it's your turn to speak."

A young woman stood from her seat and shyly cleared her throat. America shot out of his seat and the woman squeaked and jumped a little bit.

"Georgia!" America shouted.

"Y-yes?"

"What are you doing here?"

Everyone's eyes fell upon America, even those of Italy and Greece, who had awakened from their respective dreams.

"It's a w-world meeting. I got a l-letter in the mail saying it was today and that I was expected to give a presentation o-on-"

"World meetings are for countries!"

Georgia blinked at him, confused. "T-that's why I'm here, Mr. America."

"Georgia, you're not a country."

"W-what? I've been a country since I got my independence from Russia in 1991."

"Don't talk back to me, young lady! You are my state and you know it!"

"B-but, Mister America-"

"No! Go to your room and _think _about what you've done."

The other countries came out of their daze enough to jump to Georgia's defense.

"Alfred, Georgia earned her independence in 1991," Russia began. "I remember it quite well."

"I think you've mistaken her for one of your states," Estonia offered.

"Next time, please try not to narrowly avoid a world crisis with your horrible skills in geography," England said, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

"Now, Georgia, since you've been a _country_ for _twenty_ years, please continue with your presentation," Ludwig growled.

* * *

A few months later, Alfred held a meeting with his states.

A little boy of about six ran up to him and tugged on his leg.

"Which one are you again?" Alfred asked.

Forty-nine pairs of eyes turned towards him. He'd never forgotten a name before.

"G-Georgia?"

Alfred face-palmed. "I was afraid you'd say that."

"What did you do this time, Dad?" Michigan asked.

"You don't want to know.

* * *

**A/N: I'm baaaaack! :D**


	14. Vegetable-like Fruit

Chapter 14

Vegetable-like Fruit

Antonio's Chapter

"Nevada!" Arthur shouted, bursting through the doors of the meeting room.

The other nations cringed and Arthur stormed up to Alfred, pulling the American out of his chair and shaking him violently.

"Bloody Nevada! New York, I can understand! L.A, I can get behind. San Francisco makes sense! But bloody Nevada! None of us have even _heard_ of Nevada before now! What, pray tell, is the purpose of holding a world meeting in _Nevada,_ of all the places in your stupidly large country, huh? Do you know how hard it is to get a last-minute flight to Nevada from London? Do you? I haven't slept since Tuesday night and it's, what, Thursday now, and do you have any idea how many cups of your stupid American coffee I've been forced to consume?"

Alfred gently pried Arthur off of him and sat him in a nearby chair. "That explains a lot, actually, and it's Friday."

Arthur laughed a bit hysterically. "Nevada! Stupid bloody _Nevada!_"

"Hey, Francis, why don't you take Mr. Grumpy Pants to his hotel room to 'calm him down' a bit?" Alfred suggested, lifting Arthur from his chair and pushing him in Francis's direction.

"Avec _plaisir_, mon ami."

"Stop speaking that stupid Frog language of yours and get your hands off of me, you bloody pervert! Alfred, you have no idea about the horrible things he's going to do to me!"

"Uh, I'm pretty sure I have some idea, Iggy. Don't worry about it, man! It's good for you and Francis wouldn't do anything you didn't want."

Arthur flushed and protested weakly as Francis picked him up and carried him out of the meeting room through the swinging double doors.

Alfred watched them go and waited until the doors stopped moving to speak. His eyes moved from nation to nation and after a moment, he grinned. "Well, seeing that Ludwig is absent today, I will be leading the meeting."

A chorus of groans greeted his suggestion and Alfred laughed his hero-laugh and began the process of opening the least productive meeting ever held.

* * *

After the meeting, Antonio ran up to Alfred, waving a flyer around in one hand and holding a tomato in the other.

"Alfred!"

"Oh, hi, Antonio. What do you have there?"

Antonio looked down at his hands, frowning, before thrusting the tomato in Alfred's face. "A tomate! Do you want it?"

"Thanks, man, but the only time I eat those things is when Mickey D's puts them on my burger!"

Spain's eyes widened and his mouth fell open. "That is terrible, amigo! Here, you must eat it now!"

"Uh, why don't you give it to Romano? I'm sure he'd love it."

"Roma isn't here! He couldn't get a ticket here. And he has lots of tomatoes at home and if he wants I can feed him as many tomatoes as he wants when I get back!"

Alfred took a step back. "All righty, then. I should go and check on Arthur, you know how-"

"No! You must eat the tomato first!"

"Antonio, man, I really-"

Antonio cut him off by pushing him down on a chair and climbing into his lap. He gently put a hand on the back of Alfred's head and for a minute, Alfred thought Antonio was going to kiss him.

Instead, a round, ripe, red tomato was pressed to his lips.

"Go on, eat it."

Alfred tried to shake his head, but Antonio's hand prevented him from moving. He blushed at their proximity and tried to squirm back in his chair.

"Antonio-" Suddenly, the tomato was pushed past his lips and Alfred couldn't help but take a small bite. It's juices exploded in his mouth and ran down his chin, and Alfred moaned.

Their eyes met and more of the tomato was pushed into Alfred's mouth. More juice ran from his mouth and dripped onto his shirt, and Alfred squirmed in response to the sticky, clinging feeling it left behind. "Antonio," he mumbled around another mouthful of the sweet red fruit.

Antonio simply smiled and gave him the same smoldering look. Alfred felt his heart skip a beat and tried to move away from the unbearable heat Antonio was radiating, but the chair hindered his movements and Antonio's weight in his lap was unrelenting. He tried to turn his head away, to break the spell the other's gaze and his infernal tomato had put him under, but Antonio's hand didn't budge.

He took what was left of the tomato into his mouth, almost choking on the juices but managing not to spill any, and swallowed. Antonio leant forward and licked a clean strip from the bottom of Alfred's chin to his lips, then drew away and stood up as if nothing had happened.

The flyer from earlier that Alfred had been convinced Antonio had forgotten about was pressed to his sticky chest, and Antonio turned and exited the room without another word.

Alfred drew in a deep breath and sat up in his chair, peeling the sticky flyer off of his chest and peering down at it.

La Tomatina

Town of Reno, Nevada

This Sunday!

Inspired by a Spanish fiesta

One-hour tomato fight

4th Annual Tomatina

All are welcome

Alfred slumped in his chair and ran a shaky hand through his hair.

Message from Alfred Jones to Francis Bonnefoy, August 23rd, 2:56 PM:

_room 4 one more?_

Message from Francis Bonnefoy to Alfred Jones, August 23rd, 2:57 PM:

_Always._

* * *

Antonio took him by surprise by creeping up behind him and laying a heavy hand on his shoulder.

Alfred spun around, eyes darting nervously around before settling on Antonio. "Oh. You, uh, took me by surprise there, man. What's up?"

"I wasn't expecting to see you here, amigo!" Antonio said, grinning. He had a tomato in his hand and he tossed it up in the air a few times before looking back at Alfred.

Alfred's throat went dry. "Yeah, I thought I'd give it a try."

"Would you like a tomato?"

Alfred didn't dare refuse. "They're good, you know. Thanks for introducing me to them. Plus, Iggy's always on my back about eating more vegetables and now I can tell him I eat plenty."

"It's a fruit. Me and Roma have fields of them back home. We eat them at almost every meal."

Alfred blushed and looked away. "And... And you feed him tomatoes often?" He couldn't resist asking.

"Sí. I don't know why Roma likes it so much, but it makes him happy so I don't mind."

Alfred tried to swallow past the lump in his throat. "So, I heard this festival is inspired by one of yours."

Antonio's smile became feral. "Yeah. It's my favorite. Roma's too. We go every year."

"And, what? Everyone just throws tomatoes at each other for an hour?"

"You'll understand soon."

* * *

An hour later, a grinning Alfred was pushing up his goggles and wiping tomato juice from his forehead. Antonio took a smashed tomato from his shoulder and put on Alfred's head. The sticky mass slid off and into Alfred's shirt, which prompted a frenzied dance on Alfred's part to rid himself of the slimy fruit.

Antonio laughed and Alfred found it infectious.

"Come on, amigo, let's go get hosed off, and then I can show you how we like to use tomatoes back home."

* * *

**A/N: A guest requested something with Spain and America. **


	15. Special Relationship

Chapter 15

Special Relationship

Arthur's Chapter

May 8, 1945:

It happened in an underground bunker deep under London. They got the call that, "Germany's surrendered, it's over, it's all over," around noon and they were standing hand in hand on a rickety table under a buzzing, flickering yellow light reciting hastily-scrawled vows and exchanging paper rings with blue and red dots for the diamond less than fifteen minutes later.

"Whatever changes the future may bring, whatever new and different pathways we may choose to take, my love for you, forged in adversity and cultivated in warfare, will never die," Arthur said, smiling gently up at Alfred.

"Whatever happens from this day forward, whatever the future holds, whatever hardships we may face, my love for you, realized through trials and tribulation and consummated in warfare, will never waver."

Francis, who was draped over the podium in one corner of the room, waved his hands about weakly and said, "I now pronounce you man and wife. I suppose you can kiss the bride, Arthur."

"Hey!" Alfred said, indignant, but Arthur cut him off with a kiss.

Arthur slipped his ring over Alfred's finger – his was the one with the red dot on it – and Alfred did the same. Alfred laughed as both rings promptly fell apart.

The phone rang and they left Francis to answer it as they started kissing again, holding each other and swaying softly.

"Alfred?" Francis asked.

"Mmm?" Alfred replied against Arthur's lips.

"Your boss called. He says there's a helicopter waiting for you on the roof."

Alfred pulled away from Arthur. "Right. Could... Could we have a moment?"

Francis didn't move.

Alfred nodded, pulling Arthur into his arms one last time before turning and jumping down off the table. "The _minute_ Japan surrenders, I'm getting on a plane to the United Kingdom, the rest of the world be damned. Just you wait, Iggy."

* * *

Arthur growled at the newspaper and threw it down on the coffee table before him. The headline, with its big, bold, horrible letters mocked him – SPECIAL RELATIONSHIP DEAD?

"I hate it when they say that. Why do you let your newspapers publish such rubbish?"

Alfred folded the paper to hide the headline. "Freedom of speech."

"Oh? I wasn't aware it protected liars."

"It's complicated," Alfred said.

"What? Like our relationship?" Arthur asked scathingly.

"Arthur, our kind can't have relationships that are anything _but_ complicated."

Arthur sighed. "Ours used to be simple. We were friends, we were lovers, we were allies, we were in love... Doesn't that mean anything to you?"

"It means the world to me, Arthur! But you have to realize that our relationship was never as simple as you seem to think it was. We were brothers, once, and then we were enemies and then for a few hundred years we weren't much of anything and then we were friends and allies and lovers. That doesn't happen amongst normal humans, Iggy."

"D-don't say that! We... We had something wonderful, Alfred! We- We- We would have been wonderful together, and you – you don't even wear my ring anymore, do you?" Arthur exploded, lifting Alfred's bare hand.

Alfred pulled away gently and freed a chain from under his shirt. His ring hung at the end, its silver sheen faded now with age but the single diamond no less bright than the day it had been made in 1946.

Alfred let the chain fall and met Arthur's gaze. "My first obligation and loyalty is to my people. Next is to the continent. And next is to _you._ Your safety, your people, your silly little island that thought it could rule the world."

"But what about your stupid boss saying that the frog was your strongest ally, he gave the Queen a box of CD's as a gift, he, you, y-you-"

"Arthur, Arthur, calm down, please. Shh, stop crying, love. Francis will never mean as much to me as you do. And you should realize by now that sometimes, just sometimes – not often, but sometimes – true love prevails and we'll fall in love against every odd. It doesn't matter what our bosses do or say or whether we're the closest of allies or whether we're enemies."

"Y-yeah?"

"Yeah? You and me forever, eh? No matter what, I will always love you."

* * *

A/N: Arthur's vow is from this quote, which I do not own: "Whatever changes the new era brings, whatever new pathways we take, I am sure that our special relationship with America – forged with adversity, will never change."


	16. High School Never Ends

Chapter 16

High School Never Ends

Because Everyone Loves Gauken AU's Part Two

Arthur's Chapter

Also Starring Berwald and Tino

November 4, 1956:

"Hey, Arthur," Alfred started, tugging on the hem of his uniform shirt.

"Yes?" Arthur asked, taking a sip of tea and looking up at him.

Alfred cleared his throat and tried to look anywhere except Arthur. "I was wondering..."

Arthur set his teacup down in its saucer. "Go on. Out with it, lad."

Alfred laughed and ran a hand through his hair. "Would you like to go to the roller rink with me this Saturday? I mean, it wouldn't be anything fancy, and it wouldn't even be a real date, so-"

Arthur furrowed his eyebrows. "If you came here to ask me on a fake date, I think you'll find my answer to be a real downer." He picked up his teacup once more and daintily took a sip.

"Uh, that's not what I meant... The date is real, but it wouldn't be a _proper_ date, just-"

Arthur chuckled. "Alfred, we've been dating since 1944 and you're _still_ embarrassed to ask me out?"

Alfred blushed. "No..."

"In any case, I think it sounds like a wonderful idea."

Alfred brightened. "Oh good! I was thinking with could double with Berwald and Tino? I already told Berwald we could and you know how those two are, they'll be so busy gazing lovingly into each other's eyes that it'll be like we were all alone!"

"Yes, that'd be fine. We go on double dates all the time. You didn't think I'd mind, did you?"

"Well, we always go with Francis and Mattie..."

"Yes, but a change of faces would be nice. And those two are just so sweet together. I heard from Francis the other day that the latest wager on when Berwald is going to pop the question is Christmas."

"This happens every year," Alfred said.

"Yeah, but this time..." Arthur trailed off and looked from side to side to make sure they were alone before leaning forward conspiratorially. "I heard a rumor that he's already gotten the ring."

"Really? It wouldn't surprise me at all. It's not as if they need a ring anyway. They're practically married as it is. Berwald calls Tino his 'wife' and Tino lets him and they act just like a married couple."

Arthur clasped his hands together. "I know! It's so sweet. Gosh, I hope he's not one of those guys who proposes in private and that someone is around to film it!"

"Hmm, I don't know. Think about Tino. Don't you think a public proposal would embarrass him?"

Arthur shook his head. "Tino? He'd love it. Now, if it were me, I wouldn't want something _too_ public but I wouldn't mind if one or two people were around to see, you know?"

Alfred nodded, making a mental note to cross off half the items on his list. "Well, I will see you later then. You want me to pick you up?"

Arthur chuckled. "We live together, you silly git."

"I'll take that as a yes, then," Alfred said, trotting away.

* * *

There were about five minutes before they were due to meet Berwald and Tino at the front gate of the school.

"Well, we should be going," Arthur said, smoothing down his shirt.

Alfred held up a finger. "One moment." He walked out the door, ignoring Arthur's quetioning glance, and shut it behind him, knocking twice after a moment.

Arthur opened the door, perplexed, and Alfred bowed deeply, holding out his arm as he rose. "Mister Kirkland, sir, I am here to take you on a date."

Arthur giggled and linked arms with Alfred. "Thank you, Mister Jones."

* * *

Tino and Berwald were waiting at the front gate for them, as planned. Tino waved them over and Berwald took the other's hand, almost as a mark of possession.

"So you guys ready for a night of all-American fun?" Alfred asked, flashing them one of his trademark grins.

"My w'fe and I are looking forward to it," Sweden said, and Tino bobbed his head eagerly in agreement.

"I've never been skating before. Berwald is going to teach me!"

Berwald looked down at Tino fondly and they shared a tender smile before Tino became uncomfortable under the intensity of the other's gaze and looked away.

"Let's be off, then," Arthur said, leading the party in the direction of the roller-skating park.

* * *

The roller park was nearly empty save for a few other couples skating close together and talking with one another in low tones. Most were in a world of their own and barely glanced in their direction as the new arrivals sat down on a curb to tie on their skates.

"You skate often, Berwald?" Alfred asked conversationally.

"Once or tw'ce."

Alfred and Arthur shared a glance.

"If you want, Alfred and I can give you each some pointers," Arthur offered.

Tino shook his head and bounced a bit. "Berwald says he's a really good skater. Isn't that right, Sve?"

Berwald smiled at his wife and nodded.

"Roller-skating is different than ice-skating, Berwald," Alfred said, standing up and skating a couple of figure-eights around Arthur.

"It can't be that hard," he reasoned, standing up on shaky legs and helping Tino to his feet. "Don't be afra'd, w'fe. I'll catch you if you fall."

Tino giggled and leaned on Berwald, who swayed dangerously. Arthur started weaving his own figure-eights around Alfred's and soon the two were locked in battle, daring each other to make more and more intricate shapes and pushing one another to go faster and faster.

"I want to try that, Sve! Come on!" Tino pulled Berwald away from the curb and towards a flat expanse of concrete, where Tino pulled away from Berwald and spun around a few times, laughing. "This is fun!" He skated around Berwald for a few minutes, nearly falling a half a dozen times, which cause Berwald to give a little shout each time and move forward as if to catch him.

"T'no, I w'sh you'd be more careful," Berwald mumbled, crossing his arms and glaring at his boyfriend.

Tino laughed and skated up to him. "Come on, I think I'm getting the hang of this. Let me teach you."

Berwald grumbled and glared a little more before giving into his wife's gentle attempts to pry his crossed arms apart and lead him into a slow glide. "F'ne, but only because you're so c'te."

* * *

"Ber, don't be upset just because I'm a better skater than you," Tino said on the way back.

Berwald mumbled something incomprehensible. Alfred clapped him on the back. "It's all right, big guy. Arthur skated circles around me back there."

"And don't you go forgetting it," Arthur said, smirking.

Alfred laughed and slung his arm around Arthur's shoulders.

"We should do this again some time."

Arthur nodded. "I quite agree."

"Hmm," Berwald mumbled in agreement.

"Yeah, Ber and I had so much fun!"

"So... Next weekend?" Alfred offered.

"J'st as long as it's not roller skating again."

"Really, Ber? I thought you liked it when I beat you at sports you're supposed to be teaching me!" Tino said, tightening his hold on Berwald's arm and grinning disarmingly.

"Not ice skating either, then," Berwald mumbled.

Alfred and Arthur exchanged a look and decided they were better off not knowing.


	17. Surprise Geography Quiz!

Chapter 17

Surprise Geography Quiz!

Ludwig looked down the table, straight at Alfred, slight frown pulling at the corners of his lips. He coughed to gain the attention of the gathered nations, who uncharacteristically fell silent and gave them his undivided focus. Alfred started squirming in his chair; this was bad.

_Really_ bad. Bad as in, the-world-is-ending, completely, utterly, entirely horrible. Bad as in, not-even-the-hero-is-going-to-be-able-to-save-us-n ow bad, bad as in –

Alfred was startled out of his terrified reverie by Ludwig's voice. "We are going to begin this meeting with..." His voice trailed off.

The gathered representatives leaned forward. A hushed murmur spread through them. What could possibly be so bad that even Ludwig couldn't give voice to it?

Ludwig cleared his throat, shuffled his papers around, and shifted Feliciano to a more comfortable perch on his arm. "Allow me to rephrase that. Apparently our bosses got together and decided that we should learn a bit more about each other's countries."

The Bad Touch Trio started laughing as one, and Matthew, sandwiched between Gilbert and Francis, groaned and rested his head on the table, trying to wish himself into invisibility so he could slip away unnoticed from his boyfriends...

It didn't work. Two hands closed themselves around his wrists in unison, one very pale and extremely strong, and the other perfectly manicured and unsurprisingly elegant.

"I'm looking forward to learning more about Birdie's vital regions," Gilbert shouted obnoxiously from his left.

"I myself wouldn't mind becoming reacquainted with cher Mathieu," an almost-naked Francis said silkily from his other side.

Ludwig sighed. "Bruder, please behave yourself. Francis, please put your clothes back on. And for the rest of you who are following similar lines of thought... I'm sure that's not what our bosses meant. Here," Ludwig said, gently rustling the papers he was holding. "I have prepared this for a starting exercise."

"Ludwig sounds like a teacher, ve," Feliciano giggled, eyes darting open for a moment before sliding closed once more.

"Please pass this down," Ludwig ordered, splitting the stack of papers and handing one half to Kiku and the other to Feliciano. He gave Alfred one last glare before sitting down and looking intently at his own copy.

Alfred fidgeted while he waited for his turn to receive a paper. He felt Arthur stiffen at his left when the island nation got one of his own. "You're not cheating off of me," was all he said before passing Alfred the last paper in their half-stack.

Alfred frowned and looked down at the paper with a mixture of trepidation and excitement. _World Geography Quiz,_ it read.

Oh. The world _was_ ending.

But no matter! It was nothing the hero couldn't handle!

And with that thought, Alfred began the ten-question quiz.

_World Geography Quiz_

_1. Name the seven continents. _

Oh, that a no-brainer, America thought to himself.

_America, Canada, England, Russia, Africa, Greenland and China. And Mexico._

_2. Name the five largest nations in order of size. _

America frowned. Was this a trick question or something? Shaking his head, he quickly crossed out 'size' and wrote 'awesomeness' in its place.

_One: United States of Awesome! _

_Two: Prussia_

_Three: England_

_Four: Denmark_

_Five: Canada (sorry, bro)_

_3. Name five North American countries._

America almost laughed out loud. Whoever made this quiz must think he was stupid!

_United States of Awesome, Canada, Greenland, Iceland, and the North Pole. _

_4. What is the capital of the United Kingdom?_

America frowned and shot a glance towards Arthur. The older nation was scribbling furiously, eyebrows scrunched up and tongue poking out. Alfred smiled fondly. He was so adorable! But he wasn't adorable when he was mad, and Alfred knew he'd be furious if he got this question wrong. He thought for a second. He knew this one, he remembered it from watching that silly show about aliens and time people and disappearing boxes that Arthur loved so much...

_Cardiff!_

_5. Name the Nordic countries._

Alfred glanced over to where Tino and Berwald were sitting, hand in hand. Anyone who didn't know this one was getting a taste of Viking rage. Alfred shivered. It was really cold. Cold, yeah...

_Sweden, Finland, Switzerland, Austria, and Greenland. _

_6. When did the Soviet Union dissolve? _

As if Alfred would forget the day. On the 26th of December, 1991, there had been parties all day and all night long. He wrote:

_Stupid commie._

_7. Name the capital of Poland. _

Alfred rolled his eyes.

_Lithuania._

_8. Name the countries Japan borders._

Alfred yawned. This quiz was so easy it wasn't even funny!

_North Korea, Russia, and China. _

_9. Name three French cities._

Alfred frowned. How was he expected to how _three_ French cities? It should be enough that he knew one!

_Paris, Rome, and Franceland. _

_10. Name your largest trading partner (exports only.)_

Alfred smiled fondly at Arthur. What a cute question!

_England. _

"The hero is done!" Alfred shouted, standing up loudly and waving his paper in the air, almost ripping it in half in the process.

"It only took you three hours," Arthur grumbled.

Ludwig sighed. "Please pass it to the front. We'll discuss it next meeting. For now, this meeting is adjourned."

"Already?" Alfred asked, confused.

"Some of us didn't spend the entire time taking a ten-question geography quiz," Arthur said scathingly.

"Just you wait, Iggy. I _murdered_ that test."

Arthur rolled his eyes. "I believe you."

* * *

A/N: I think it's sort of funny how a lot of Americans are really bad at geography. Hence this chapter.

Now, for the right answers:

Question 1: North America, South America, Europe, Africa, Asia, Antarctica, and Australia.

Question 2: Russia, Canada, China, America, Brazil. Prussia isn't a country anymore, and England is a part of the United Kingdom and isn't a sovereign nation.

Question 3: United States, Canada, Mexico, (most people think it's part of Central America, and, culturally, it is, but it's geographically part of North America) Cuba, Dominican Republic. Greenland is part of Denmark and isn't its own country, and the North Pole isn't a country either.

Question 4: The capital of the UK is London. Cardiff is a city in Wales. The TV show described is Doctor Who, but Alfred's misconceptions actually come from Torchwood.

Question 5: It seems that no one in America is capable of answering this question correctly. The Nordic countries are: Sweden, Finland, Denmark, Norway, and Iceland. Greenland isn't a country and just because they both start with the same letter and are neutral, Switzerland isn't the same thing as Sweden.

Question 6: December 26, 1991, was the date of the official dissolution of the Soviet Union.

Question 7: Warsaw.

Question 8: Japan is an island nation. This is a trick question!

Question 9: Paris, Versailles, Marseille, any number of any other answers. Rome is in Italy, and Franceland probably doesn't exist.

Question 10: America exports the most goods to Canada. But a lot of people... Forget that.

No offence is meant to Americans. I know that it's very stereotypical for Americans to be bad at geography, and that a lot of Americans are actually very good at it.


	18. Divide and Conquer

It was a week before he was able to find the bunker where they were keeping him; a week of "if you wanted a say in this, you shouldn't have waited until millions had died and London was razed to the ground and most of Europe had fallen. A week of "this isn't your war anymore." A week of God-only-knows what they were doing to the defeated nations before he could come dashing in and save them from doing something they'd all regret ten, twenty years down the road when the colors of their world weren't painted in red, when the war was over and done, when they realized that, yes, they'd _still_ have to live together even though they'd won and the others had lost. Sometimes he hated Europeans.

They hadn't made it that hard for him to find this time. Part of him wanted to believe that part of them was willing to learn from the past and willing to let him help them avoid the same mistakes.

The other four Allies were there when he arrived, only letting out a huff of annoyance when they saw that he'd found their hideout.

He stood there for several long moments, strong arms laden with supplies, staring them down. England was the first to break, clearing his throat and looking down at the floor as his face colored with shame. China was next, standing and leaving after a long minute of gazing into America's reproachful eyes. Russia followed shortly after, sinking down into China's vacated seat and burying himself in his scarf.

France refused to look away, simply blinking and moving to stand as the seconds seemed to tick on into eternity in the space between them. England jumped up to help the weak nation, but France shook him off, hobbling past America on a gnarled cane down a poorly-lit corridor.

"Follow me," France called to him without looking back.

America spared one last pitying glance in England's direction before moving to follow the French nation.

France had already opened a heavy metal door at the end of the hall. His eyes moved up and down America, as if judging whether or not he was worthy enough to enter. His stance softened as he seemed to reach some sort of conclusion within himself. "We were..." He paused here, eyes darting towards the blackness beyond the door. "Civil," he finished, lips tight and face drawn.

America stepped into the room without a word, and felt the door close behind him but never heard the click of a lock. He silently made a note to thank Francis later, depending on the state he found the prisoner in.

He heard the clanking of chains in the corner, and followed the sound as his eyes slowly adjusted to the near-complete darkness within the room.

"I'm not here to hurt you," America said softly, moving slowly so as not to startle the captured nation. "I don't know what they've done to you, but I'm here to help."

America set a basket of food down on the floor beside him and set the crate of water down next to it. He shifted the heavy blanket in his arms and draped it over the prisoner. He knew from past experiences that this cell would probably have no mattress or blanket, and that the prisoner – or prisoners, his mind supplied – would have been given very little food and water at this point.

"How many of you are there?"

A slow, hesitant tap. _One._

"Are you able to talk?" When there was no sound, he said, "Tap once for no, and twice for yes."

Two taps, this time louder and surer.

America breathed a sigh of relief. "If you tell me who you are, I can help you more."

One tap, quick and frantic. _No._

"I don't care who you are. Italy, Hungary, Romania, Germany, Finland, whoever, I'm here to _help_ you."

Another tap. Another no.

America sighed and sat down on the cold dirt floor. He crawled over to a wall close to the prisoner and leaned against it. Another rattle of chains suggested the captured nation had moved away from him. "I guess I'll just have to guess," he sighed.

"Well, to start with, if you were Romania, you'd be tied up against the wall with no room to move, since they wouldn't want to be attacked by a vampire the minute they come in to torture you. And since you just moved, that means you're not him."

The chains scraped against the floor again and confirmed his suspicions.

"You're not Finland, because he didn't really _fight_ in the war and he'd been captured, I'd have heard from Sweden by now. And Denmark. And Norway. And Iceland."

"You're probably not Hungary either, because she wouldn't be so stubborn as to refuse to reveal her identity to someone who's here to _help._"

"And Italy would have been begging me to help him by now. Which means that you're either Germany... Or Prussia."

He heard a soft sob.

He tried to move closer to the defeated nation, but another rustle of movement warned him to stay away. He'd cornered the room's other occupant, and reason told him to stay clear of a cornered animal.

"Come on, tell me," he prompted gently.

"W-where's my bruder?" Ludwig's voice, cracking under the weight of the last five years.

America was quiet for a moment and the sobs grew louder. "He's with Russia." Ludwig seemed to break at this, and America, who had finally acclimated to the darkness, saw him curl into himself.

"But..." He bit his lip and thought of Canada. "Russia owes me. I can ask one last favor, before..." He let his voice trail off. Ludwig didn't need to know that their nations were on the brink of war. He had enough problems of his own. "I can convince him to reunite you with Prussia. Not politically, but personally." It was the best he could do.

Ludwig was silent for a long moment. "How much?"

America furrowed his brow in confusion. "Well, all of him, I suppose," he responded.

"No. What's the price?"

"Oh, that. Don't worry, it won't cost anything."

Ludwig sighed. "What do you want _me_ to do for _you_ in exchange for getting my bruder back?"

"Nothing," Alfred said honestly. "I... Well, I can't say I know how you feel, but I can imagine."

Ludwig started to cry again.

"What is it?" America asked, alarmed. He rushed to Ludwig's side and began to inspect him for wounds in the gloom of the cell.

"You must want something," Ludwig whispered. "Just tell me what it is. Anything – is that what you want me to say? – I'll do anything! I just want to see him again!"

America smiled sadly. "You wanna do something for me? Just promise... Promise that if anything ever happens to me or Canada, you'll return the favor. Bros gotta stick together, y'know?"

Ludwig nodded stiffly.

"I'll get Gilbert back for you," he said. "I know you love him."

"D-danke."

"Ludwig..." Alfred screwed his eyes shut. "What did they do to you?"

Silence filled the room for a moment in which neither dared to breath. "Who?"

"Russia and the others."

"They won the war."

"Yeah, I know. I was there. But did they hurt you?"

"They didn't do anything."

"Oh, thank God. France told me they'd been 'civil' but I thought that was postbellum European for 'we only tortured him twice a day' or something. I have food, if you're hungry, and water, too. Lots of water. If you're still cold, Canada is in the area with backup supplies. I can be back in twenty minutes!" He shot up and ran to the door.

"America?" Ludwig called into the darkness.

"Yeah?" The younger nation paused.

"Don't come back."

"W-what? But, what about the blankets? And, and-"

"Save them for someone who deserves them."

"What?"

"Just leave me here to rot in peace. Tell the others to lock the door and bury the key and fill the bunker with cement so I can never hurt anyone else."

"Hey, hey, Ludwig... It wasn't your fault. It wasn't even Germany's fault. It... All it took was a handful of evil people and a few thousand clever lies to ruin everything. It wasn't your fault."

"I could have done something!" Ludwig wailed. "I could have stopped him, I should have tried harder, I should have-"

"There was nothing you could have done. You're bound to your leader, and you know that as well as anyone else. And there's certainly nothing you can do now. You-"

"Millions of people," Ludwig whispered. "Whole countries, destroyed. Whole cities, villages, families, gone. Children who lost their parents. Parents who lost their children. People who lost their wives, husbands, brothers, sisters, homes... _Twice._"

"It won't happen again. We'll make sure of it. We'll _help_ you."

"You said that last time," Ludwig accused.

"We know better this time. We won't make the same mistakes we did last time."

"No. I won't... I can't... Just give up, America."

And suddenly, America was above him, shining with a light of his own. "Ludwig," he began, kneeling down before him like some sort of angel and extending one translucent hand. "If there's one thing I _never_, ever, _ever_ do, it's give up."

* * *

Heyyy! Many thanks to everyone who has reviewed! If there's something YOU love about America/think other nations would love about America/want to see in the story, you know where to find me!

Past-requesters: Requests WILL be answered, soon! I promise. :D

Coming soon: Midsummer! That's right! That means that (to quote Lordi) **Swe-e-e-e-eden** and some of the "cutest, prettiest, hottest babes" on this side of the ESC are coming soon to a chapter near you!


	19. Who Let the Dogs Out?

Alfred loved dogs almost as much as he loved his country, and he always had. He had a cute little beagle puppy that had followed him around since the Revolution that looked at if it hadn't aged a day in the two hundred years since he'd first befriended it.

Alfred, of course, knew better. He knew that dogs weren't immortal, that they lived short little doggie lives and then went to doggie heaven where they ate all the bones they could possibly dream of until they became so fat and so round that they looked like cute little balls of fur and happiness.

When Alfred was much younger, he and Matthew had shared a mutt. She'd been kind and gentle and playful, always making them giggle and bringing smiles to their faces. She'd gotten old though, and went to the place where old dogs go when they stop eating and drinking and breathing. Alfred had been wrecked, and he'd swore never to have another dog again.

It was hundreds of years before a little tan and white hound forced him to break his promise. The creature was small enough to fit in his hands and cute enough to melt a stony heart. Alfred had given his new friend scraps and blankets and toys and sworn to make his doggie life the best few years that any doggie had ever lived through.

Time passed, as it is wont to do, and the beagle got older, but he didn't die. One morning about ten years after the dog had first nudged its way into his heart and his home, he awoke to find him sprightlier and of a slightly different shade of white than he had been previously. Alfred didn't question it for another fifty years.

"Hey, Matthew," he'd said one day, turning to his brother as they'd taken a leisurely stroll through a yellow and red dappled forest.

"Yeah?" Matthew asked, taking the opportunity to reach for a golden ripe apple on a nearby tree.

"Do dogs die?"

"Well, yeah, of course they do," Matthew said distractedly, jumping in an attempt to reach the fruit dangling just out of his reach. "Wait, what?" He released the branch suddenly and its leaves stung as they whipped across his face. The apple he'd been trying to pick fell from the tree in a strong gust of wind and he fell backwards with a growl.

When Alfred had recovered from his laughing fit and helped his brother off the ground, he repeated his question. "I'm serious. I want to know."

"Alfred, is this about your beagle?" Matthew asked, brows furrowed as he inspected his apple.

"Welllllll-"

"Normal dogs die, but nation's dogs don't."

Alfred shook his head. "Nu-uh. Ludwig told me that his dogs die all the time."

Matthew sighed, and brought the apple to his forehead in an odd sort of face-palm. "Well, you're more awesome than he is. Your dog has special awesome vibes coming at it, so he'll live longer than other dogs."

"That's not true either," Alfred whined. "Ludwig has Gilbert, and Gilbert is pretty awesome." Alfred put his hands on his hips, daring Matthew to counter the logic of the awesome Prussia.

Matthew took a deep breath. "That's because you're awesomer than Prussia."

Alfred couldn't contain the grin that threatened to spill onto his face. He knew Matthew was lying, but he let it slide. For now.

* * *

Matthew had done a pretty good job of keeping his beagles all the same size, color, and temperament. Alfred had no idea how he'd managed to conjure up an army of beagle clones, but leave it to Matthew to do the impossible.

One of the beagles had an odd little quirk where his lips would purse and one leg would lift off the ground when he'd howl. Another had a little heart shaped patch right on his rump, but other than that, they were pretty much the same.

When his puppy got old, Alfred knew to expect a visit from Matthew. Matthew never failed to call him sometime after each dog's ninth birthday, asking to come over and bake him his favorite pancakes. Alfred would accept, and Matthew would come and bake him pancakes, and Alfred would try not to cry in front of his brother, and the next morning a new beagle, almost exactly the same as the last, would be waiting at his bedroom door.

He'd figured out what Matthew was doing sometime around the turn of the 20th century, and Matthew knew that he knew, but the beagles never stopped coming, and they never spoke of it. Alfred loved dogs, and Matthew loved his brother, so he made it so that Alfred never had to lose another dog again.

* * *

A/N 1:

I love my beagle more than I love cupcakes (my favorite food), my iPad (which is with me at least ten hours a day), and 99% of the things I own - combined.

Also, just about everyone in America has a dog! (Not really, but I wish.) You can't go out of your house without seeing a dog. You walk out to get the mail, boom, dog. You go to a dog-free park because you have been around dogs 24-hours-a-day since the day you were born, and bam, three dogs. You go for a drive on the highway, and ba-ba-boom, a million dogs sticking their heads out the windows of SUV's. (It's always the SUV's.)

So, Americans, for the most part, really love dogs!

A/N 2:

Anyway, to the person that requested something about Romania and Twilight... Ahem. I made a very solemn vow a very long time ago with a very dear friend of mine that I would never associate myself with Twilight in any way, shape or form. {What really happened was this: Some random guy asked me if I'd ever read Twilight and I said that I hadn't and we shared a laugh at the expense of some girls drooling over pictures of that pale vampire-dude and the other guy.} So, yeah!

To other requesters: All requests will be up by... {Drum roll...} BASTILLE Day!

A/N 3:

Up next: Midsommar!


	20. Our House in the Middle of the Street

Midsummer in New York

Part 1

It had been decided a century ago that they'd all take up residence in a secret neighborhood in the heart of New York City.

Before that, they'd all lived in an upscale part of Paris, much to France's delight, and long ago, when the world was young, most nations had lived in Rome, much to everyone's dismay.

There were surprisingly few complaints about the move to New York. Everyone was happy for the change of scenery, and most were delighted to be able to live in a city that was quickly becoming the capital of the world.

Most nations chose to live with their families in a house they built together, and for the most part, Europe was grouped together, as was North America, and Asia decided to build the largest home of all some distance from the others.

America chose to live with Canada, to no one's surprise, and after much debate, England and France agreed to share their home. The exterior screamed of America, with subtle accents – balconies, railings, arches, and such – that suggested England's touch. The internal design was largely France's doing, as was the art, the furniture, and the bedrooms. Canada and Arthur took care of storage while America designed the living room and what would become the game room in the decades to come. France created the kitchen while Canada focused on the more functional aspects of the house, such as the bathrooms and washrooms. Alfred took care of the electricity and the water works, and with the bulk of the work accomplished, each set about personalizing their own designated spaces.

Austria and Hungary built an elaborate mansion typical of the Austrian-Hungarian aristocracy of the day, much to the amusement of a certain Prussian. Germany, Italy, and Prussia built a very functional house right next to Austria's mansion, and Italy took care of the decorating while Prussia set about preparing the house for the pranks he'd be playing for the duration of his stay. Romano and Spain decided to build a comfortable little villa on the plot directly behind Germany's house, while Switzerland and his sister constructed a virtual fortress on the other side of Austria's dwelling. In the end, it was decided that the four houses would be connected by wide hallways, much to Austria's chagrin. Each dwelling was connected to the main house, and Germany's and Spain's house were connected directly as well.

Russia's family built a five-story mansion. The top three stories were allocated to Russia and his sisters, while the bottom two were provided to the Baltics and Poland. The third story was generally unused by it's assigned inhabitant, Belarus, as she preferred to stay with her sister or her brother, and it came to be considered a meeting place for the entire 'family.'

The Nordics also decided to share a house, and settled with a three-story mansion that they didn't bother to divide amongst themselves and agreed to share equally.

The largest house at the end of the block belonged to the China, Japan, Hong Kong, South Korea, Taiwan, Thailand, and Vietnam.

There was also a very large building at the other end of the street that was used as a meeting place and a recreational area for the nations. There was an unspoken agreement that within those walls, they were no longer nations. They were humans, and they were family. It was a place where they went during wartime to stop fighting for just a little while and play a civil game with an old friend, or to bond with a family member torn from them by war and politics. It was a place they went to be free from blame and burden, a place that few ever wanted to leave.

And so it came to pass that they all came to live on a very long street in the secret heart of the capital of the world.


	21. War Soup

As requested by animeroxursox, who wanted to see something about Hurricane Sandy and/or the fiscal cliff.

**Trigger warnings for Hurricane Sandy and the aftermath of natural disasters. **

* * *

Monday morning, October 29, 2012:

"Hey, Iggy, wanna stay at my place tonight?"

"Hello, Alfred. It's 'want to,' and I don't think that'd be a good idea. Aren't you expecting a hurricane?"

Alfred laughed. "Yeah, right! It'll turn out to be nothing! It always does!"

Arthur put down the cup of tea he was nursing and looked up at Alfred. "They say it's supposed to be bad, Alfred. Perhaps you should be taking it a bit more seriously."

"Yeah, yeah, my house is all bunkered down already. Come on, if you stay tonight, I promise you won't regret it."

Arthur sighed into his tea. "I'm quite sure I will, but nevertheless I accept your offer."

"Awesome, dude. Let's go!"

* * *

Monday night, October 29, 2012:

They were watching the news when the lights went out.

Alfred let out a string of curses. "Don't worry," he told Arthur. "Tony's got this covered." He called out to Tony. "Tony, man, what's up? Get the generator running. You'd think that with your thousands of years of technological superiority it wouldn't take you five whole seconds to turn on a light!"

"Alfred, give the little guy a break!"

The lights flickered on and Alfred smiled at Arthur. "Right, I'd forgotten how much you like him."

The TV emitted a burst of static. "Right," he said, "the towers must be down."

Arthur sighed and wandered to the window. "I should have gone back to London. I probably won't be able to get a flight back for a few days now."

"Oh, relax. Is spending time with me really that bad?"

"No, but look at it out there! The wind is howling and it's pouring and the waters are choppy..."

Alfred stopped fiddling with the television for a minute. "Waters?"

"Yeah, you know. Waters. Come look at how high the waves are."

"What waves? Where? You must be seeing things, man. I haven't fixed the TV yet."

"They're not on the TV, you git. I can see them from here."

Alfred paused and slowly set down his tools. "Iggy, step away from the window for a minute and go upstairs."

Arthur turned around. "Why? You can't tell me what to do. If I want to stay down here, I'll bloody well do what I please."

"Iggy... We're a mile inland. Something is really, really, _really_ wrong if you're seeing water out there."

"I'm not seeing things, you git, there's water out there, plain as day."

At that moment, the door crashed open in a spray of seawater and splinters. Alfred grabbed Arthur in one hand and his dog in the other and sprinted up the stairs.

* * *

"Are you going to do something?" Arthur asked after a while.

"About what?" Alfred asked, rubbing his aching chest as he sat at the top of the stairs and watched the water swirling around downstairs.

"About that," Arthur said, gesturing to the water down below.

Alfred laughed hollowly. "What do you want me to do? There's an ocean in my house. What the fuck am I supposed to do about that?"

"Right. Sorry. That was a stupid question."

"You said it, not me."

"How are you doing? I know New York is close to your heart..."

"If I have a heart attack, there's a fuzzy blanket on the third shelf of the bedroom closet. I like to wake up to fuzzy things..."

Tony appeared beside them. "Lot of water," he said softly.

"Any news from the outside world?"

"Power outages in fifteen states, flooding in twenty-four. Forty-three deaths so far. They say it's going to cost about 50 billion dollars."

Alfred put his head in his hands. "Oh God," he said. "Oh God. Oh God. Oh my fucking God. Oh, God," he chanted as he started to cry.

"Hush, Alfred, it'll be alright."

Alfred started to hyperventilate. "No, it fucking won't! I can't _afford_ 50 billion dollars worth of damage, and _one_ death is too many, let alone God knows how many others are going to be dead by the morning!"

"It's all right, Alfred. It'll all be over soon."

Alfred laughed bitterly. "No, it won't. Will you _look_ downstairs? That's not going to all evaporate once the sun comes up in the morning. And even once the water's gone, all the furniture will be destroyed, the electricity in the walls will have be replaced, and so will the walls themselves."

"And that's to say nothing of my _people,_" Alfred continued. "All the millions of people going through this right now, seeing their whole _lives_ destroyed, drowning, maybe, cold, scared, in the dark... I can hear them screaming."

He started to shake. "And after. Oh, God, after... It took _years_ to rebuild from Katrina. Houses aren't going to rebuild themselves, and the power isn't going to put itself back on, and cars won't run with salt-water in their engines. And people will be displaced, for weeks, months..."

"Hush, poppet. Just get through tonight, and you can think about tomorrow in the morning."

* * *

Ten days later, he found himself dishing out hot soup from a huge pot in a church somewhere in New York City. A young boy and his brother came up to the table, looking between the pot and the bread, lost and scared.

"Try some of the soup. It's good," Alfred lied. Someone had thrown a barrelful of vegetables into a pot and added some water and salt and called it soup.

The boy smiled at him. "We know. It's all we've been eating since the storm." He took a piece of bread for him and his brother as Alfred ladled hot soup into their bowls. He wanted to weep for them, because he knew how that felt. He knew how good hot food tasted when you were cold and hungry, and how you looked back days or weeks or years later at a plateful of the same food and fought the urge to gag.

"There are blankets in the back," he told them, and forced himself to smile for the next hungry refugee.

* * *

It was six months later and he was standing with Arthur on a filthy street, looking down into the pile of rubbish that had once been someone's home.

A bright red plastic toy caught his attention in the middle of the chaos, and he spun around to face the other side of the street. Joe's Pizzeria, for sale. Denny's Dry Cleaning, relocated until further notice. Angie's Bakery, under new management. Pet Perfect, closed forever. A row of houses, condemned, bright red signs marking them unsafe for habitation.

Arthur had asked him, on the way here, if things were finally getting back to normal. He'd noticed that the talk of Sandy had died down a bit and things seemed to be settling in.

"This, Arthur," Alfred began, "is normality, for sale, under new management, unsafe for habitation, until further notice."

* * *

A/N: I live in an area wrecked by the storm (people are still carting the pieces of their ruined homes away and you can't really go more than a block or two without seeing what used to be someone's home spread across their front lawn in broken splinters of wood and shattered glass.) We lost power for what felt like forever, and the local church was handing out this red-brown-slimy-looking soup with a variety of vegetables and other assorted food-stuffs, and the first day I went there to eat - it was maybe five days after the storm, and I hadn't eaten anything in about as long - that soup was the best f***ing thing I'd ever tasted. About two weeks later, when the power finally came back, I went back to eat for the last time, and I took one spoonful of the soup and wanted to puke. Hence the title.

Most of this is based on true stories of what happened in the days and weeks after Sandy - the soup and the lady at the church telling me to "try it, it's good," the stores closed down and under new management and relocated, and the ocean in the middle of the street.

Annnnd on a lighter note, I posted a poll on my profile so you guys can vote for the next nation-tan you want to see featured in an '101 things the world loves about -" story! Go check it out. (You know you want to. ;D)


	22. Sex on the Beach

Arthur was only mildly surprised to find himself here, at the downtown IHOP sandwiched between a thrift shop and an alleyway home to dozens of stray cats and nearly as many stray humans, at four a.m. on an otherwise perfectly normal Tuesday – or was it Wednesday? – morning, sitting across from his boyfriend and nursing a heavily spiked chocolate caramel dulce de leche hazelnut frappe latte while three gangsters at the table next to theirs were slowly and steadily riding cloud nine up to High Street.

"I am so fucking smashed," Arthur complained half-heartedly.

Alfred giggled. "I am higher than a mushroom smoking a cat."

Arthur grinned in spite of himself. "You mean a caterpillar getting high on mushrooms."

"Here you cats go," the waitress said as she deposited a huge dish in front of the two giggly men.

"Oh. My. God." Arthur practically screamed at the sight in front of him.

On the table, between Alfred and himself, sat a beautiful bowl lined with chocolate-chip and tiramisu pancakes. Bananas – probably soaked in rum or vodka, Arthur noted to himself – were scattered across the field of pancakes. On top of the bananas were several layers of chocolate-covered bacon fried to crispy, greasy perfection. Several scoops of fudge and coffee ice cream separated the bacon from three huge burgers, which were topped by red velvet pancakes, maple syrup, chocolate syrup, M and M's candies, rainbow sprinkles, caramel sauce, tiny baby candied cherries, small salted caramel treats, chunks of double chocolate chip cookie dough, drizzles of sour powder, dark chocolate Kit-Kat wafers, frozen Milky Way bits, and about ten bottles of whipped cream.

While they were distracted by the mesmerizing sight taunting them in the middle of the table, the waitress had left and had now returned with two hand-sized ladles.

Arthur took one giant-sized bite of the treat in front of him and promptly had a food-gasm.

"It's like sex, in a sexy bowl, on a sexy beach, on a Sex Planet, with a sexy food-sex sex alien."

"Mmm, sexy," Alfred agreed, and came chocolate syrup all over himself and Arthur.

"Oh, Alfred, take me!" Arthur all but screamed, crawling across the table and taking a handful of the pancake-sex-treat to smear all over himself and Alfred on the way.

"In the downtown IHOP between a thrift shop and a homeless alley at four a.m. on an otherwise perfectly normal Thursday morning?"

"Yes, you sexy pancake monster, right here in the downtown IHOP next to those three mobsters riding the Express Train to Stoner's Hill."

"You're going to be so sticky when I'm done with you," Alfred growled, and proceeded to make a mess of the downtown IHOP.

* * *

**This cracktastic chapter is brought to you by the pure AWESOMENESS that is chocolate-covered bacon. **


	23. Top to Bottom

"You know what _my_ favorite thing about America is?" Matthew drawled.

Alfred groaned. "Do I even want to know?"

Matthew laughed. "Come here."

Alfred grudgingly obeyed and followed Matthew's voice to where his brother was leaning over a huge book.

"Look," he pointed at a map of North America.

Alfred sputtered and blushed and clapped both hands over his eyes. "M-Matthew!"

"What?" Matthew purred.

"'s dirty," Alfred responded shyly.

"Oh? And why's that?" Matthew's grin grew wider.

"Because it's you... O-on... On top of me."

Matthew pretended to be shocked and re-examined the map for effect. "What?" He mock-gasped. "You mean _Canada_ is on _top_ of _America?_"

"I thought you'd know that!" Alfred whined. "You're the one who's so good at geography." He finally dared to peek out between his fingers.

"Hmm, maybe the map is wrong," Matthew said, eyes glinting mischievously. He flipped the page to reveal a close-up of the American-Canadian border.

"Matthew!" Alfred all but shrieked, turning away in embarrassment.

"Yes?" Matthew asked, pressing himself up against his southern neighbor. "Did I embarrass poor little Alfie?"

"Yes," Alfred whimpered.

"Did I make you feel shameful?"

"Y-yes."

"Did I make you feel dirty?"

"Yes!"

"Did I turn you on?"

"Yes... Wait, I mean no! No, of course not. That'd be-"

Matthew cut him off with a kiss. "Maybe if you're a good boy later I'll be willing to give you a little geography lesson," he whispered seductively.

Maria's head poked out from the doorway. "Can I join?"

Alfred and Matthew looked at each other and began whispering fiercely.

"I'm up for it," Alfred said.

"I don't see a reason not to," Matthew added.

They turned as one to their southern counterpart. "Only if you're ready to have some fun," they said.

"Si, I'm ready," she replied, and she closed the door softly behind her, all of North America went South.

* * *

A/N: So far the top contenders for the next 101-things-the-world-loves-about - are... Canada, Germany, Prussia, N. Italy, Norway, Grandpa Rome, Austria, Spain, and Germania. Have your voice heard and vote in the poll on my profile or comment down below!


	24. Waking Up in Vegas

"I'm declaring my independence," Arthur slurred.

"From what? Or is that just another one of your stupid songs?" Alfred asked, shooing away the bar-tender when she tried to place a twenty-sixth pint in front of his fellow country. Arthur slammed down a triple-digit greenback and the girl shrugged and made Arthur a fresh line of drinks.

"From you," Arthur all but screamed, pointing a trembling finger at Alfred and nearly falling off of his barstool.

"This is ridiculous," Alfred murmured. He pulled a thick wallet out of the back pocket of his skinny jeans and flashed the bar-tender a line of Benjamin's. She narrowed her eyes and he added five more. A raised eyebrow earned her another seven. When she still seemed to be dissatisfied, Alfred pulled out a wad of crumpled hundreds and threw them at her. She scurried away to count almost six thousand dollars. "I don't own you," Alfred said to Arthur.

"You're damn right you don't."

Alfred sighed. "This happens every year. 'Oh, I'll be better this time,' you say, and then five hours later you've had three barrels of liquor and you're crying and declaring your independence from places that never even owned you in the first place!"

"'m not crying," Arthur insisted, pouting. "And I'm not drunk," he added, staggering off in a jagged circle he obviously intended to be a straight line.

"So, how many beers did you have?"

Arthur squinted into the distance. "Thirty-eleventy!" He answered proudly after a moment of intense thought.

"Someone is drunk."

"Not me, nu-uh. It's you."

"Oh?" Alfred allowed himself a small smile as he bundled Arthur into the passengers side of his Jeep. "And why's that?"

"Because you're all fuzzy-ish and purple-y!"

Alfred laughed. "Man, you are going to have one _hell_ of a hangover tomorrow morning." The door slammed shut.

* * *

Arthur woke to the slow and steady sound of firecrackers going off in the distance. Or in his head. It was hard to tell which.

He sat up groggily and cursed at the demonic light trying to burn through his eyes. As he adjusted to his newborn hangover, he looked around and flopped back on the couch where he'd fallen asleep, or been put sometime during the night. He was surrounded by red, white, and blue, stars-and-stripes, all-American banners and flags and streamers.

The walls were painted with some abstract neon version of the American Flag that zigged and zagged from one corner of the room to the next. Red, white, and blue streamers hung overhead, as did silver stars. The carpet was covered with red, white, and blue glitter and the occasional red or blue cup. Arthur brushed away some of the glitter covering him to find himself draped in a stars-and-stripes blanket. He shoved aside the blanket only to discover that he was dressed in a patriotic halter top, a patriotic mini-skirt, a patriotic bandana, and a questionable stars-and-stripes thong.

A streamer exploded in his face and he went tumbling off the couch, arms flailing and kicking at his unseen assailant. "Happy Independence Day," his former colony beamed down at him, blowing into the streamer once more.

"Alfred," Arthur began.

"Yeah?" Alfred grinned.

"Could you do me a favor?"

"Yeah, sure, anything!"

"That streamer of yours, I really think it'd be better if you stuck it where the su-"

"I love you, too, Arthur. Oh, and I wanted to say thank you for the birthday present I got myself with your card."

"I never give you birthday presents..."

"I know," Alfred said deviously. "It's all big and purple and glittery and you can stick it anywhere you like."

"Go fuck yourself," Arthur said playfully, trying to suppress a grin.

"Gee, I dunno. I was sorta hoping you'd be doin' that for me today. Birthday sex and all."

"Into the bedroom, then," Arthur coaxed. "We'll see if you can't still be tamed."

* * *

A/N: Haven't posted in a while because of one simple truth in life: Yes, they _do_ do those scheduled maintenance things _just_ to fuck with you _personally_ when you have important things to do. And the idea that it's 'scheduled' is such B.S. It is scheduled around times when you have better things to do than sit around all day waiting for incompetent asshats to fix things that were never broken!

ANYWAY. Latest poll results for the next 101-things story: Canada is in the lead, followed by Prussia, followed by England.

Thank you to everyone who was reviewed/favorited/followed. !Yay!


	25. Star-Spangled WHAT?

O say can you see by the restaurant's light,

What so hungrily we ate last time our stomachs were screaming

Whose red meat and white bread through the delicious night,

At the table we sat at, were so beautifully gleaming?

And the milkshake's pink glory, a taste that was rare,

Gave proof through dinner that our appetites would always be there;

O say can you eat another meal from the microwave

In the land of the burger and the home of fried beer?

Alfred proudly belted out the last line of his song and turned to Arthur, who spoke before he could even open his mouth.

"Does literally _everything_ have to be about food with you? Like, _everything?_ Can't there be _one_ blessed thing you have in your life that _isn't_ about food? You built a house around a kitchen and a pantry, and you bought your furniture based on how well you could eat upon it. You only agreed to go out with me so you _wouldn't_ have to eat my food, and you have a pet alien _just_ so you can have food from outer-space, _most_ of which you're allergic too. And now you've gone and changed your national anthem to a song about burgers and milkshakes and fried beer!"

Alfred nodded along seriously with each harsh criticism. "So..." He said dejectedly. "Wanna get some burgers?"

Arthur glared at him intensely for a moment or two, and then, softening, said, "Lead the way."


End file.
